


bad santa

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Dany has a tongue ring which I mention for reasons, Drunk Jon, Eloping, F/M, Jonerys Advent 2020, Messed up Jonerys, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Porn with Feelings, Recreational Drug Use, Shameless Smut, Sort Of, Tattoos, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, Visiting Santa Claus, anti-Christmas Dany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Jon loses a bet to Theon and has to take over the last week before Christmas as the Santa for Winterfell’s Santa Village.  He initially balks, but when he meets Dany, the sarcastic, Christmas-hating elf, he finds that it might be the best present ever.**updated drabble  2/14/2021**
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 178
Kudos: 643





	1. bad santa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NorthernLights37](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernLights37/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets a new job after losing a bet, but it may lead to the best Christmas ever, when he meets Grinchy elf Dany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my second post for Jonerys Advent 2020, and it is waaaay smuttier than the other Christmas fics planned. But even my attempt at ‘darkness’ comes off fluffy in the end. Enjoy these messy beans!
> 
> Also this fic is for Lights, my co-Bitch in crime, who checks my work and encourages my hare-brained schemes. She's also one of the very few people in this fandom who actually GETS IT. My Jonerys ride or die. Merry Christmas Bitch!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185802593@N06/50716299041/in/dateposted-public/)

* * *

"Oi! Wake up, you're late!"

The clank of a beer can hitting the iron bedpost, then knocking off his temple unceremoniously yanked Jon from the dream he'd been having. A beautiful woman with silver hair had a set of plump, perfectly red lips wrapped around his cock and was giving him the best blow job of his life. He wondered if it was a premonition. It felt so real….

Until the silver goddess vanished, the yelling from someone else breaking through to his subconscious. He groaned, stuffing his face deeper into his pillow. He coughed, wondering what the reeking smell was, and then realized it was him. _Ugh_. He pushed up onto his forearms, blearily gazing at the shapeless form near the door, which had chucked the can at him. "Huh?"

The form grew sharper, blinking away the leftover alcohol and sleep from his system. It turned into Robb, who was now laughing and picked up a running shoe, hurling it at him. It bounced off his arm and onto the bed, where his massive wolf-dog Ghost was sleeping. Ghost jumped and grabbed the shoe, tearing into it. He rolled to his side, trying to figure out what the fuck was happening. His head ached, pounded like there was an army of tiny hammers hitting his skull. He coughed again and pushed his hand into his eye. "Fuck? What's going on?"

"You're late! Remember? The Santa gig?"

_Santa gig?_ He groaned, throwing back the covers and stumbling up, tripping on his jeans from the previous evening. "Fuck!" he cursed, spying the alarm clock, knocked over on the nightstand. He snatched up the jeans, shoving his feet into them and tripping in effort to get to the chair where the fucking red velvet and faux fur Santa costume sat in a wrinkled pile. "That's today?"

"Oh yeah little brother. And you bet your tight arse I'll be there. With bells on." Robb chuckled gleefully, grabbing a t-shirt and throwing it at him. "It's eight-thirty, I think you're supposed to be there at nine."

_Fuck!_ Not that he really cared, but it was a paying job and right now he needed what he could get. He mentally noted to murder Theon again, which was why he was in this predicament. He tugged on the shirt, apologized to Ghost that they couldn't go on their morning run, and stuffed his feet into boots. He grabbed the fucking suit and tucked it under his arm, running out the door.

Robb pursed his lips. "Have a good day honey." He handed him a travel-sized mouthwash and a flask. "Hair of the dog."

"Fuck you."

"I think it's Theon you need to be cursing but whatever. Enjoy the puke and tears!"

He did not want to know what that referred to, instead running out of the terrace house he shared with Robb, fucking Theon, his sister Arya, and Arya's boyfriend Gendry. Somehow with all those people he _still_ barely made rent. Hence one of the reasons for this godsforsaken gig. He wondered where Arya even was, since she worked there too, and was _also_ responsible. He was going to blame everyone but himself, if he was being honest with himself. Which he rarely was.

The sun burned out his retinas and forced another explosion inside his skull. He threw the Santa suit into the car, yanked on his battered pea coat that no longer protected him as well as it should from the biting Northern cold, and fumbled with his sunglasses. He revved the engine on his Jeep, spraying snow and narrowing avoiding covering one of their neighbors in slush, ignoring Slynt's shouts. The Jeep's heavy engine sounds added to the sunlight added to the residual alcohol sloshing in his belly. He was going to die, he figured, and it would be all Theon's fault.

Traffic fucking sucked, since everyone in all of Westeros had converged a week before Christmas on the small town of Winterfell, desperate for snow, fireplaces, trees, and that "holiday experience." He was used to it having grown up there but that didn't mean he had to like it. He flew down the main roads, eventually skidding the Jeep to a stop next to a candy apple red Mini Cooper. Whoever drove that in the North was a masochist, he briefly thought, jumping out and quickly changing into the Santa suit in the parking lot. He shivered, cold and wind hitting his bare skin, but he didn't care.

Let a cop accuse him of public indecency at this point, spending the morning in a jail cell instead of where he actually would be more than welcome at this point. He ran up to the door in the side of the gingerbread-like house, already hearing screams from kids and parents lined up on the candy-cane lined path from the street to the door.

A swig of whiskey from the flask, then a shot from the mouthwash, spitting it out into the snow piled at the edge of the door, and Jon figured he was ready. He tripped into the 'Santa's Village' house and up towards the throne-like center of the small room, lights and sounds blaring, fake snow and ice coating everything, and inflatable and fake reindeer, elves, and other toys _everywhere_.

"About time!" a voice shouted. The voice sneered. "You look disgusting."

Jon did not necessarily care as he did not even want to be here. He kept his sunglasses on; the blinding rotating lights on one of the Christmas trees next to him exacerbated the tiny hammers which now felt more like hatchets. "I'm on time," he coughed out, sniffing his breath discreetly. _Ugh._ He stole a candy cane from a basket as he followed who he presumed was his new boss—a man with a craggy face wearing a wrinkled white shirt and red and green striped tie. He made a face at the man's back— Jorah— the nametag on his pocket said.

"You're the new Santa, Theon said you'd be taking over his last week."

_Fucking Theon._ He tugged the patent leather belt around his middle, cinching it tight. The velvet fucking itched a storm even over his t-shirt. He made a mental note tomorrow to put on gym shorts since his thighs were now burning. Gods, he hoped he wasn't allergic, that'd be great. Scratching his damn balls in front of kids would not go over well, he imagined. He knelt to tie his boot laces, stuffing the cuffs of the sagging red pants into them. "Jon," he said by way of introduction.

"Santa," Jorah corrected. He pointed to the throne. "Clean yourself up and then walk in when Dany introduces you. It's a big thing for the kids in the morning for Santa to greet them first thing. Ho, ho, ho and all that shite. They get _one_ candy cane after pictures. There's a bucket that looks like a present next to you for the ones that get sick."

Jon's eyes widened. "Um, what?" That was _not_ part of the deal.

Jorah continued, ignoring him while pointing to various things around the Santa village. "You ask their names, what do they want, say they get it, have they been good or bad, whatever, all that stuff. Take a picture, move on to the next." He pinned him with a threatening stare. "Where is your beard and the pillow?"

_Beard and pillow_? He scrubbed his palm over his short dark beard. "On my face," he lamely joked. He reached to tug his black curls into a messy bun, figuring that would be underneath the hat. "Why?"

"My gods, I cannot believe this." Jorah glared. "Go to the back, there's a locker, clean up, get out of here in ten minutes after Dany introduces you." He scowled. "And get rid of those ridiculous sunglasses, you're not a rockstar."

_Who is Dany?_ He didn't know anyone named Dany. He wondered if that was the owner of the red Mini. He hadn't heard Arya say anything about a guy named Dany. Also what dude drove a Mini in the North? Pussy, he figured, and trudged to the door marked 'Santa and Elves Only!', swinging into it.

And right into a room with a winter angel goddess.

_I must still be drunk and I'm hallucinating._

He lowered his sunglasses, seeing her in all her glory. Well, a side profile. The goddess had silver curls, which she was braiding back from her face, and a slim, trim body, all pearly pale skin and from what he could tell, a toned belly and excellent set of tits. They were nicely giftwrapped in a red sports bra and she also wore a pair of tiny red boyshorts with sparkling black stockings. She turned away from braiding her hair, using a mirror in the open locker door, and went to grab a green velvet dress with fur accents from the bench behind her.

He croaked, his voice disappearing. "Um, hey," he said. _Gods Jon you are so lame_.

The woman was unabashed by her semi state of dress. She slipped her arms into the sleeves of the green dress. "Hello," she said, sweeping her gaze up and down in a manner that made him think of a laser beam. Her voice was silky and did not contain the harsher Northern accent, but more like something he had heard in movies set in Valyrian. "Santa."

He couldn't believe it, looking straight at her. Her eyes were _purple._ She was _gorgeous._

"Jon," he blurted. "I’m Jon Snow."

"You're late," she accused. She snapped up the dress, adjusting the black velvet bow around her neck. She wore chunky boots that had a sizeable heel, even with it she had to lift up to meet his gaze and he wasn't that tall of a guy. She smirked. Her violet eyes stood out against dark eyeshadow and her nails were black. He spied a tattoo on her inner right wrist of three dragons, and another of a couple weird markings and words on her fingers. _Hot._ "There's a pillow for the belly and another fake beard in Theon's locker. Also what little dignity he happened to have; you should put that on too."

He laughed, stupidly, and opened the locker, making a retching sound at the smell. "Fuck! Smells like the dead in here."

"That's Theon's dignity." She strapped on green elf-shoe covers to her boots, with a bell and pom-pom on the toe, matching the hat she plopped to her head. She walked by him, patting his shoulder. "Welcome to Santa's Village Jon Snow. Where souls go to die. Better put that fake belly on, Santa's not supposed to look like he works out eight hours a day."

"I only work out for two a dayr," he said.

She lifted an eyebrow, crimson lips tugging into another smirk. "I was kidding."

"Oh." He had also lost his game along with most of _his_ dignity to take this job. "Well..."

"I don't care." She picked at her index fingernail, rolling her eyes. "Just hurry the fuck up."

"Can't wait to start your day?" he teased, removing the flask from his pocket. He moved to take a sip from it when her eyes widened, lighting up at the sight of it. He shrugged. "Hair of the dog."

She grabbed it before he could sip, but instead of trashing it like he expected she would, she took a long pull, gasped, and screwed the cap on. And slipped it into her pocket. "I'm keeping this," she said, walking away without another word, door swinging in with a squeak.

Jon blinked stars from his eyes. He took a few breaths, but that didn't help the overwhelming nausea he still had from his hangover, and the smell wafting out of Theon's locker did not help. He grabbed the fake beard, stared at the white silky mass for a moment, and shook his head, closing his eyes briefly.

"I am never losing a bet to Theon again," he vowed, slamming the door and storming out, stuffing the damn hat over his head.

* * *

The beautiful elf with the same taste for whiskey as him was the aforementioned Dany. Short for Daenerys, he learned, as Jorah referred to her by the full name on several occasions throughout the day. Each time, she rolled her eyes so hard, Jon wondered when they'd get stuck in the back of her head.

Things started well enough. There was a throng of kids and parents when the doors opened, Dany made a show of it all, and when he came out, apparently, he didn't "Ho, ho, ho" enough and one of the parents complained to Jorah, who stalked over to him and hissed into his ear that he had to give it more.

"Also where is the pillow? Santa is supposed to be jolly and fat!"

Jon would rather die than be jolly and fat. He didn't work out two hours a day, three on a good one, for nothing. He grit his teeth. "He went on a diet and stopped eating cookies."

Since a girl about five wandered up with her mother, Jorah couldn't say what he likely wanted to say back to him and Jon smiled, pretending to listen when the girl said something about wanting a horse. "And you shall get one," he exclaimed, to her absolute delight, while the mother looked ready to murder him. What did he care if any of this came true or not?

These kids had to learn to live with disappointed. When he was their age, he wanted Robb to fall through the ice and his Aunt Catelyn to choke on a wishbone. Did either happen? _No._

"Smile!" Dany said, not bothering to smile herself, and snapped the digital camera photo. She handed a piece of paper over, cracking her gum behind her teeth. "Photos should be up by end of day on the website, use this code to access yours." She leaned over to a laptop set up next to her, hitting a button and turning her head, bellowing: “ _Next!_ ”

It was like a factory line, he guessed, kids coming and going, in and out of the store. He hated it. One kid ran hard and jumped straight on his nutsack; he was fairly certain he wasn't going to have children. not that he wanted them anyway and especially not now after seeing all these spoiled monsters. He squeaked, face turning white. "Merry Christmas!"

"Santa are you okay?" the boy asked, wondering.

"Don't worry about him," Dany commented, a sly, knowing smile twisting on her crimson lips. "Santa's jingle bells are a little sore."

He kept his fake smile going behind the itchy white beard. "And what do you want for Christmas?"

"You didn't ask my name!"

And so it went.

The hangover got worse as the morning went out. It crept into afternoon and he was starving, the remaining alcohol still not burned off or absorbed the few candy canes he snuck. He swallowed hard against leftover whiskey, rising bile, and stomach acid, threatening to come back up.

He looked over when a couple of kids came in, one of whom did not look very well. He glanced at Dany; eyes wide. She made a fuss with the kids for a moment and walked them up the path. "And here is Santa!" she exclaimed, rather enthusiastic. She leaned around the throne and rummaged. He wanted to ask her what she was doing, but one of the kids—a girl about six he guessed although he was shit with guessing ages—exclaimed that her name was Walda Frey and she had a bunch of siblings and cousins all named just like her.

"And my brother Walder," she said, pointing to the younger boy who appeared green. She scowled. "He's been sick."

_So you fucking bring the sick kid to get all the other kids sick?_ Jon wondered. He tried to smile but also wanted to know why Dany moved the poorly concealed 'present' that was actually a bucket, close to him. He tried to force down another surge of nausea, desperate for a break. His knees were aching from kids of every shape and size and age sitting and jumping on them, his ass hurt from the thin cushions and he had to piss something fierce.

Plus he needed food before he passed out.

"Um, what do you want for Christmas Walda?" he asked, as the mother pushed the other kid— Walder— into his arms. He didn't know what Walda said. Because about ten seconds after sitting on his knee, Walder took one look at him and out came everything that was in the kid's stomach.

Walda screamed. And Jon glanced down at the vomit all over him. He immediately turned and hurled straight into the bucket that Dany had so politely moved in perfect reach for him.

* * *

"Congratulations, you got your first puker."

Jon wiped his mouth with the back of his palm, peering underneath his stretched-out arm to the smirking elf leaning against the bathroom counter. He took a few heaving breaths, eyes fluttering shut long enough to trap the image of her cackling next to him. “Congrats?” he mumbled. He leaned forward, swiping water from the faucet and swished it around a few more times and spit it out. He sighed and grabbed some paper towels to wipe off his face, sweat shining and curls damp at his temples.

“Kind of a rite of passage,” Dany said, removing his flask from her pocket. She swigged it and offered it over to him. He took it back, scowling. She smiled sweetly. “Thanks for that, I needed it.”

“I needed it more.”

She hopped onto the bathroom counter, crossing her legs, and sat on her hands, still smiling, this time more sympathetic. “I figured it easier to ease you into it all. Besides, I didn’t realize it was a real thing, puking the second someone else does.”

“Aye, my cousin calls it empathetic puking.” He could not believe he was standing there in his disheveled, sweat-reeking Santa costume with the hottest woman he’d ever met, talking about _vomit._

Dany picked at the black polish on her thumbnail, sighing dramatically. “Well, welcome to Santa’s Village.” She grinned wide at him and hopped off the counter, patting his shoulder. “Don’t know what you did to end up here.”

“I lost a bet,” he called out. He turned around, narrowed eyes on her back. He chuckled. “What about you?” He had never met this woman before, which was saying something as everyone in Winterfell tended to know each other.

She pulled open the door and waited a beat, her violet eyes darkening. “Doesn’t matter. It’s a job.”

“Not really into the Christmas spirit?”

The bells outside of the locker room magnified when she pulled the door open wider, kids screaming as they queued up again to destroy his life. She fiddled with one of her earrings and eventually slid her beguiling violet gaze towards him once more. The smile had faded from her lips, a grim line replacing it. “No,” she murmured. She chuckled and walked out, allowing the door to swing after her. She said something, perhaps she thought the chaos in the room outside would drown them out.

Except he heard her, the pain obviously in her pretend-hatred. _”Christmas is the fucking worst.”_

* * *

“You survived.”

_Barely._ Jon leaned against the Jeep hood, lighting a cigarette. He had shed the Santa costume the instant the last kid walked out, before Dany even locked the door after them. He couldn’t believe he’d survived. The day had gone from absolute shitfest to well…he did not know what else it could be called other than the day he’d had. The puker had been followed by Catelyn’s brother Edmure’s stupid child _peeing_ all over him, because apparently, they were “free pantsing” it in order for the kid to potty train.

He did not believe his fucking _knees_ constituted a toilet, but after that, he’d had to deal with a series of kids who refused to believe he was real, including a young brat named Tommen who ripped off his beard and screamed nonstop until Dany had to push them out the store with free photos and candy-canes.

To know he had another four days left of this nightmare…he shuddered, inhaling hard on the cigarette. He was going to get super shit-faced drunk that night. He’d just make sure to stop before midnight. He’d have Arya stop him. No way he was going to do this day again tomorrow.

He offered the pack of cigarettes to Dany, who hopped off the back step, changed out of her elf costume into a pair of skinny jeans, her combat boots, a simple black t-shirt and a leopard print furry coat. It looked rather adorable, but on her it gave off an edgy, sexy vibe he was quite digging. She declined the cigarettes with a smirk and dark eyebrow raise. He smiled sheepishly. “I’m trying to quit.”

“You’re doing a very poor job of it.” She rummaged in her tote, removing her car keys, a dragon keychain glinting off them. She tucked a lock of silver hair behind her ear and eyed him curiously. “Arya said you live with her.”

“And my other cousin, his shithead friend Theon, and her boyfriend Gendry.” He smiled wide, delighted she must have been asking about him. He flicked ash off the end of the cigarette, straightening up from the hood of the car, going around to the driver’s side as she tossed her duffel into the back of her tiny Mini. “So you’re asking around about me?”

“Not on purpose, Arya mentioned you when I asked who the fuck this idiot was, who showed up pretending to be Santa.”

_Oh, well._ He grumbled, opening his driver’s door, the hinges squeaking in protest. It was fucking freezing, the metal contracting, breath coming in frosty puffs. If anything, smoking made him colder, but at least he could try to convince his brain he was warm. He eyed Dany’s fuzzy coat, removing the smoke from his lips. “I figured you for dragons, not big cats.”

The look she gave him sent his balls shrinking even further up into his body than they already were from the below zero temps. He sort of liked it. _Perhaps I’m a pervert now_ , he suspected, and blamed Theon’s Santa costume for it if he was. She tossed her hair out of her eyes, walking around from the passenger side to the driver’s side of her Mini. “I can’t quite skin dragons you know. The whole fire breathing thing.”

“I think you have that under control.”

At least he got a smile out of her, despite the condescending squint of her eyes with it. “Har, har,” she joked. She smirked. “Do not be late tomorrow. I’m fucking sick of Jorah flirting with me when there’s no witnesses.”

“I think you can handle him.”

“Oh I can, that’s why I want witnesses. I’d like someone else to tell the rest of town that I’ve kneed him in the balls twice.”

Jon burst out a laugh, stubbing out his cigarette on the ground. He knelt and picked up the butt, throwing it into a bin near the back door. He frowned at her curious cock to her head. “What?” he wondered.

“You don’t litter.”

“It’s not polite.” He climbed up into the Jeep, leaning out for the door, and bit the tip of his tongue. At least his headache from this morning was gone. He was going to get going on the one for tomorrow, maybe she could…he cringed. She talked to Arya. That was something. “Hey, what are you doing now?”

Dany folded her hands atop the roof of her Mini. She sighed, exasperated. “I’m going to go home and wash off the stench of this day and go to bed, to get up tomorrow and take pictures of whiny kids on the knee of an alcoholic, skinny Santa Claus.”

At least she called him skinny, but he would have preferred the term _muscular_ instead. “Well, I’m not an alcoholic, but since you brought it up…” He lifted a shoulder casually. “Want to get a drink?”

Now, Jon did not consider himself smooth with the ladies. That was more Robb’s area of expertise. Theon had the creepy pervert thing going on that some women seemed to be into. He always came off too broody, Arya told him, and while women did like the idea of fixing up a sad guy, maybe he was _too_ sad. He didn’t think Dany thought of him like that, which was why he was taking the chance. He debated mentioning he could get her a ride to work tomorrow—might come off too presumptuous—but she answered him before he could.

She wrinkled her nose, smiling, not unkindly. “Don’t push your luck Santa.” And she ducked into her tiny car, gunned the engine, and spun out of the parking lot. He noted there was a bumper sticker that said _My other ride is a dragon._

He grinned, slamming his door shut and shoved the key into the ignition.

_She didn’t say no._

* * *

“Oh fucking fucking fuck fucker.”

Jon handed a candy-cane to the toddler who had been repeating everything he said, while the toddler’s mother gaped horrified at Arya. “Merry Christmas,” he said, as the toddler squealed and shouted ‘fucker’ just as the mother grabbed him away. He waved, the kid still shouting ‘fuck!’ He turned to Arya, who was on shift with him, and not at all helpful. He scowled. “Thanks a lot, Jorah’s going to blame me for that when she complains.”

“You told a kid who asked if you were really Santa would Santa seriously have your bone structure?”

He rubbed his white gloved hand along his jaw. It wasn’t completely out of the question. _Would_ Santa have his bone structure? He slumped in the Santa throne. There was a slight lull, no one waiting in line and he moved back and forth a bit to get his arsecheeks some blood back in them. He had a very good arse, which was the only reason why he wasn’t walking with a hunch and limp each time he stood up.

That morning upon arrival, he hadn’t been hungover, but he still kept the flask in his pocket just in case he needed a pick-me-up during the morning. Dany had swiped it when he’d removed it from his backpack. He shifted again, moving from the left cheek to the right, groaning. “Fuck, this seat is the worst,” he mumbled. He glared up at Arya, who smirked. “Get me a break. I need a cigarette.”

Arya bounced in front of him, bells on her shoes and hair jingling. She put on a pouty face, squeaking. “Oh of course Santa! Anything Santa wants, I am at your service, for I am just a lowly elf!”

“Fuck off,” he laughed. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “What’s got you so cursing mad?”

She waved her phone at him. “Gendry’s gift is delayed, now I have to find something else.” She sighed, contemplative. “Maybe I should just wrap myself in a ribbon and give him my body.” She shimmied her shoulders, pretending to sexy dance.

Jon gagged; the idea of his cousin/little sister having sex was horrific. He liked to live in denial about what she and Gendry got up to in her room. “Fuck me, keep that shit to yourself.”

Arya started complaining about what to get Gendry, and he tuned her out. He glanced at Dany, who had finished handing over the photo package information to the woman with the parroting toddler, watching her as she moved her head almost ear to ear, a fake smile on her face and eyes squinting, the wreath of tinsel in her silver hair a beacon, almost like a star atop the Christmas tree.

Despite the lack of hangover, a headache persisted resulting from the constant repeating carols, bells, child screams, parental yells, and occasional reprimand from Jorah to either him or Arya. Dany, for her lack of holiday cheer, never got chastised, but she did get lingering creepy stares. Although he did see Jorah walking with a limp after a particular stare, suspecting a knee or heavy combat boot to the balls were to blame for that malady.

He stood and waved at some of the kids who were lined up waiting behind the gate to the throne—what fucking Christmas story gave Santa a throne?—waving to them. “Um, Santa is going to…take a break,” he called, coughing through the fake, ‘jolly’ voice. He deepened it. “Ho, ho, ho…whatever.”

Arya wandered over to flick a sign over on the gate, saying they’d be back soon. “Santa has to go make a list and check it twice.”

_A list of all the things I am going to do to Theon to get him back for this_ , Jon thought, disappearing into the locker room to take a piss and then rip off the itchy beard and hat. He tugged his bun free, shaking out the curls, and redid it so they weren’t falling loose from under the hat, teasing the fact he was _not_ the real Santa. He sighed, swigged some whiskey, and decided against a cigarette.

Several minutes later he returned, Arya replenishing candy-canes, and Dany at the computer and camera station, adjusting the lens. He tightened the black patent leather belt around his middle—skinny Santa that he was—debating whether or not to offer Dany a swig before the latest round of bratty, snotrags came in to demand video games, horses—why always horses, he wondered—and every other item under the bloody sun.

He looked over at the throne, pausing before he took his seat. A slow smile tugged over his lips, seeing what rested atop it. He ran his tongue over his teeth and walked over to the surly elf, who was mumbling something to herself while she messed around with the camera. “Problem?”

“No, I’m getting on quite fine with this,” she replied sarcastically. She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you smiling?”

“What did that woman say to you earlier? That had you all fake laughing?”

She smirked. “How do you know it was fake?” He arched his brows, saying nothing. She rolled her eyes, lifting her shoulder in acceptance. “Alright, yes, I was fake laughing. She said I must _love_ my job so much. Being around kids all day, Christmas all day…the attractive Santa.”

He puffed his chest out a bit at that. “Attractive?”

“I said you’re too skinny for me.”

“Muscular,” he corrected. He slipped the whiskey flask into her front pocket, leaning around and getting a whiff of peppermint and something floral. Lavender, maybe. It instantly relaxed him. He met her gaze, the purple irises shining bright against the dark eyeliner and shadow around her eyes. He thought she would probably look very pretty without the heavy makeup too.

The quiet words she’d uttered the day before about hating Christmas, echoed in his mind. He wanted to know more about this mysterious elf. They didn’t have a lot of time before the next round of kids, so he lowered his lips to her ears, quiet. “Thank you for the pillow.”

“Pillow?” she murmured, not meeting his gaze. “I have no idea of what you speak.”

Jon smirked. He stepped around the camera and computer, returning to the Santa throne, where there sat a bright red fluffy pillow. He dropped onto it and stretched out his legs, booming his fake Santa voice. “Ho, ho, ho, who is next?”

The one who was up next happened to be a shithead sixteen-year-old and some friends named Joffrey Lannister, who Jon was _not_ going to let anywhere near him, but just as Joffrey beat a few kids out of the way to saunter up, clearly doing this to cause mayhem and apparently have some fun, he went sprawling straight into the fake cardboard presents, plastic reindeer, and fake cotton snow, shouting for someone to help him.

“Oh I’m sooooo sorry,” Dany simpered, while Arya cackled behind him. She looked down at Joffrey and angled the camera at him. “Say ‘Merry Christmas!’”

Jon laughed, meeting Dany’s eyes. He silently saluted her. And was quite pleased to see the eyeroll back.

“I think she likes you.”

He met Arya’s knowing smile. He flushed, shifting on his now nicely cushioned bottom. “No she doesn’t.”

“Hmm, whatever will Mrs. Claus say?”

Jon didn’t give a fuck what Mrs. Claus said. He only had eyes for the elf with the dragon tattoo on her wrist.

* * *

_Only three more days left, only three more days left…_

The mantra over with for the morning, Jon finished his cigarette, tossing it into the ash stand beside him. He lifted his head at the cracking gravel and snow, Dany’s Mini stopping next to his Jeep. He smiled at her. “Morning.”

“Fuck off.”

“Long night?” It irked him that she might have been partying without him. Brief panic flitted through him. What if she wasn’t alone? He cleared his throat, about to ask if her boyfriend or husband or someone kept her awake, but thank the Old Gods she answered for him, unlocking the back door at the same time.

The keys jangled on the ring, her movements hard and jerky. “My landlord shut off my hot water, so I had a cold shower this morning. Merry fucking Christmas.”

“You can use my shower.” He closed his eyes, shivering at how pervy it sounded. Arsehole. She smiled; eyes hidden behind her aviator sunglasses. “Ah that is...one of the five we have in our house.”

“Sounds like you share enough with your roommates.”

“I’ve got my own.” It was non-negotiable when he took the room. He followed her in, flicking on lights while she skirted to change in the locker room. He had three more days left. Thank Gods but would he see Dany again? He hoped so.

He turned on the music, cringing as chipmunks started screeching. “Turn it off!” she shouted, coming out of the locker room. She made a face. “This fucking holiday.”

That wasn’t the first time she said that. It wasn’t time to mention it, he noticed a car already pulling up. Arya warned him the next couple days would vacillate between busy and dead slow, as people frantically got the kids in for last minute pictures and visits. She had the day off, which he didn’t understand. He honestly had no idea how Arya even kept this job. Probably blackmailing Mormont, he guessed.

He changed into the Santa suit, handed Dany the flask as it had become something of a tradition for them in the short time, he’d known her, and met her gaze. “To a slow day,” he toasted.

She smiled. Probably a real smile, eyes twinkling, even if the shutters remained somewhat closed. He could see a crack in them, just a small one, pushed open. “To a slow day,” she repeated, swigging from the flask. She bounced on her chunky heels, shuddering. “Ack! That’s harsh today.”

“Had to get the cheap stuff, you drank all my good supply,” he teased. He frowned, watching her shove the flask into her pocket. He was going to regret this but...ah fuck it. “Why do you hate Christmas so much?” He wasn't much of a fan either. All the happiness and family...brought up too many things he wished to keep buried, but he wasn’t sure he would call it hatred of Christmas. Mostly a pervasive and insistent annoyance. Kind of like Arya screaming in his ear all day long as a kid, but with carols and joy instead.

One of her silver eyebrows lifted and her heavy shadowed eyes darted from his. She fidgeted with one of her earrings. He discovered, looking closely at the various silver, ruby, and onyx pieces of jewelry lining up the shell of her ear, there happened to be a tattoo there, a little harp. She coughed softly. “I think that’s a conversation best held over a drink,” she replied,

It wasn’t an outright refusal, Jon noted. Out of the corner of his eye he spied her elf hat sitting on a red and white striped pole, a sign pointing towards the entrance to queue up. He plucked it off and dropped it over her silver braids, smiling. “After work then. Unless of course you get whisked away to toil in the elf mines.”

She stuck her tongue out, backing away from him. His eyes widened— how had he not seen the barbell stuck straight through the middle? She wagged it, purposefully teasing him, the red jewel on the end glinting. He gulped. That was so fucking hot. He wanted to grab her right there and kiss her, run his tongue over the trinket. Unfortunately, any naughtiness would need to wait. Kids screamed outside the closed door, reminding them of their first priority.

Dany knew she was teasing too, the minx. She pointed to the throne. “Take a seat Santa. Your adoring public awaits.”

The eye roll he managed rivaled hers.

* * *

If it were possible the crowd that came in sometime after lunch happened to be the worst yet. They showed up in a bus. A fucking bus. A fucking school bus. He got the tip-off from Dany who cursed under her breath, setting down the digital camera and went to the counter. He got up, leaning on the edge of the full-sized sleigh, which they only used for decoration instead of actual meet and greets. He gestured to the bus. “What’s that?”

“I forgot they were coming today.”

“Forgot who?”

Dany removed an instant print digital Polaroid camera, the kind Jorah didn’t want them to use because the prints, being immediate, did not encourage people to buy multipacks and special edition frames by going online to access them. She lifted it and snapped, a bright white flash momentarily blinding him. The printer whirred, spitting out a cloudy photo. She nervously watched the bus park, wagging the photo back and forth to test it. “It’s a group, a children’s group.”

“No shit.”

“No like from a temporary facility.” Her tone pained, hit him straight in the heart, like an arrow. She met his silent, questioning gaze, nodding, “Yeah. Foster home.”

_Fuck fuck fuck._ He shook his head, “Nope, can’t do it.” Palms going damp, he rubbed them on the sides of his coat, backing away from her. She shot a handout, grabbing his arm and hurling him to the chair, with an abnormal amount of strength from such a tiny woman. Honestly it really shouldn’t have surprised him.

"Go take a seat Santa. You're going to do this. It's like all the others."

But it wasn't like all the others, he worried, taking his seat nervously. The door opened, Dany stepping back, allowing in the kids. He noticed she was not as sarcastic, angry with these ones. Even the minders who were with the kids didn't bear the brunt of her distaste for the holiday.

The kids came and went, just like any other. Name, age, have you been good, maybe a joke here or there, what do you want for Christmas, and the usual. I want a video game, I want this new movie, I want this doll...things that weren't totally out of the realm of possibility of happening. He was vague, answering like how he'd learned to in the last two days. Never promising anything, saying if they were good, they'd be rewarded. It was all such a hoax.

He readjusted in the throne, while Dany finished processing the photo for the young girl who had just walked off, eyes starry at the prospect of getting a kitchen set for Christmas. He glanced at the young boy with sandy hair and a dour expression, who waited with one of the minders. He smiled, trying to be nice, and gestured for him to come up. "Ho, ho, ho," he said, coughing slightly into his shoulder, unable to keep the deep voice for too long. "And what's your name?"

"Ned," the boy answered, unsmiling. He didn't sit on his knee, thankfully, but came to stand awkwardly at the side of the throne.

Jon's eyes widened. It wasn't an uncommon name, but it meant something to him. "Ned, eh? That short for Eddard?"

The boy's brown-gray eyes actually sparked, mouth forming a little 'o.' He slammed his brows together, suspicious. "How did you know?" he murmured.

He patted his not fat stomach, guffawing. "I'm Santa!" He cocked his head. "So Ned, what do you want for Christmas this year?"

After a few moments of silence, the young boy moving from foot to foot, he shuffled around to the front, so he was facing Jon. He leaned in and very quietly, asked: "Are you really Santa Claus?"

"Yes," Jon lied easily. He forced a smile and hoped his dark beard wasn't visible under the false white one. He winked. "Why do you ask?"

Ned did not believe him; he saw it in the shifty look passing between the boy and a couple of kids waiting, jeering and telling him to hurry up. He leaned even closer, whispering. "But you know him, right?"

He dropped his chin, nodding, suddenly quiet. "Yes," he murmured. He wondered where this was going. His heart began to thud, and Dany had moved closer, listening intensely, under the guise of working with the camera. He patted Ned's back, moving him around a little more so Dany could hear. "Is there something you want to ask, Ned?"

The boy kept quiet again. And then he spoke, hushed. "I want my mom and dad back. I want them to come back."

A horrible, sinking stone dropped in his belly. He swallowed a sudden dry patch in his throat, his heart crushed. _Fucking fuck._ "And...and, where are they?" he asked, although he knew. Of course he knew. He'd been there, right where this young Ned happened to be standing, years ago.

Ned's dark look lifted up. "With the gods," he answered.

He had no idea how to answer that. He'd been able to bullshit enough, but never like this. He stuttered. "Well, I can ask...I can tell...um..."

And then Dany swept in. Like a high-heeled, elf-green, silver-haired angel.

She set the camera on the floor, leaning around Ned, her hands going to his arms, and her voice soft, gentle, and kind. She smiled in the same manner; she was a real-life angel, Jon thought, watching rapt. "Unfortunately Ned, Santa cannot bring people back from the beyond, but what he can do is tell you this." She met his gaze, intense, eyebrows signaling him to follow along. He did, nodding and listened. She smiled again, quiet. "When you look up at the nighttime sky and you see stars, those are the people who have lost, looking at us. That's your mom and dad saying Merry Christmas to you and when Santa flies through the sky..."

He picked it up, knowing where she was going. "He can tell them Merry Christmas for you too," he finished, oddly choked up. He tightened his smile, forcing back the angry emotions bubbling inside his heart. The unfairness of it all. He lightly touched Ned's shoulder, quiet. "You know, I'm just Santa's helper and my uncle died around this time of year." Dany perked up, eyes squinting. He tried to smile, to reassure Ned, who seemed disappointed that he couldn't get his Christmas wish. He kept going, hoping it would help. "And his name was Ned, which was how I know your real name is Eddard, because that was his name too." He took a deep breath and forced a smile. "But I know he's still with me, everywhere. Do you don't have to ask for him back, because he never really left."

Although he had an idea, one he needed to run through the minder. He knew it wouldn't help; Ned would be disappointed and upset, of course he would be. He nodded and whispered, "thank you" and stood for his picture. Jon gave him a few extra candy canes and once he walked off to join the other kids who had finished, he leaped from his seat and ran towards the minder, dragging his phone out of his pocket in the process and scanning for Davos's number.

* * *

"Drink?"

"Yes."

The door was locked, everything cleaned up, the till locked up in Jorah's office for tomorrow. He still wore his Santa jacket, loose over his jeans. He hadn't taken it off yet, as Dany popped her head into the locker room just long enough to ask and hadn't even waited for his reply before she was out. He left it on, wandering out and into the 'Santa Village.'

It was oddly nice, the lights still on the trees, the music off, and the main lights shut down. He found her sitting on the throne and he took a seat in the window beside it, atop a bunch of fake fluffy snow. He knew she already had the flask, which she unscrewed and poured some into a little dixie cup. To his horror, she dropped in a candy cane, smirking when she passed it to him. He scowled. "You ruined it."

"I made it minty."

He took out the candy cane, holding it in one hand while she poured herself a cup. They silently toasted and threw back the shots. It burned delightfully down his throat. She poured them another cup. There wasn't much left in the flask, which he pocketed. He met her gaze over top the rim of the cup, debating how to ask it. Thought he might as well just dive in. They hardly knew each other; it wasn't like he would destroy anything. _Or maybe I will_. He was about to find out. "Thanks for saving me back there," he began. He smiled a little. "With the kid. Ned."

She nodded, sipping her cup and waited a minute. "Yeah, well. I get where he's coming from."

He figured. He hesitated; only one shot at this. She studied him, waiting. Like she knew. “Did…did you lose someone this time of year?"

Dany chuckled, eyes crinkling in the corners. "You asking personal questions Santa?"

At least she was teasing. "Just checking my list twice," he teased. He knew she'd been thinking about his response to the boy, as much he'd been thinking of hers. There was a connection there; a shared bond of people who had lost parents young. Especially this time of year.

She hooked one of her legs over the arm of the Santa chair, the other stretched out in front. "Before I answer, let me ask you one.” He nodded, relieved she hadn’t blown him off entirely. She tapped a fingertip on the rim of her cup, waiting a beat. Watching. It felt like she was scanning him, top to bottom, inside and out. He shifted nervously. “The kid.” He nodded, understanding they were still on the topic of the young boy. She whispered. “You ran out, after him…I saw you talking to one of the social workers. You gave her a phone number. What was that about?”

_Oh, that._ Heat rose on the back of his neck, flushing embarrassment. He took a sip of whiskey, swallowing hard. His throat constricted; he hoped it would work out for him. “Ah…a buddy of mine. He’s a licensed foster parent. Him and his wife. They have room right now, so I…may have passed along his number for young Ned.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to know, but too late. She continued staring. No emotion showing. He frowned. “It’s just a name. They probably won’t even call Davos.”

Dany smiled, slumping a little in the throne. She unbuttoned the top of her elf coat, loosening the velvet tie. “You did something. More than you probably realize.” He shrugged; he tried. That’s all he figured he could do. They remained silent, enjoying the peace after enduring nothing but yelling and blaring music. Jon didn’t realize how much he actually liked it. It was the company, he figured, eyeing her carefully, through dark lashes, at her lazily slouch and careless expression.

Maybe he owed Theon, he thought, for this. He never suspected he’d be enjoying his time as Santa…if not for Dany. He looked up from his drink, hearing her soft cough, drawing his attention. She barely smiled and tore her eyes from his, looking out the window. “I know how he feels that kid…my…” She took a deep breath, exhaling hard. “My mom died at Christmas," she said, soft. She lifted her gaze, angry and sad. "It's why I hate this holiday so much." She ran her tongue over her teeth, shrugging, quiet. "My whole family, actually. She was the one who died on Christmas. My dad lasted about three days. My oldest brother managed two weeks and my second-oldest brother barely a month."

_Seven fucking hells_. "I'm sorry," he auto-replied, but he of all people knew that did not really mean anything. He frowned, piecing it together, quiet. "Car accident?"

"Plane crash," she answered, smile strained. She wrinkled her nose, lips pulling back, sarcasm dripping. "Yours truly was sick, I didn't go. I was ten. Been on my own ever since." She snorted. "So I told myself the whole thing about the stars. Now I don't know if I believe it or if I just convinced myself it was real."

"I get that." She cocked her head, quizzical. He rolled his eyes, laughing harshly. "Yours truly was not lying to that kid. My uncle Ned raised me, you know, Arya's father? He died early December. About five years ago." He ran his tongue over his teeth, looking at the remnants of the whiskey in the cup. He didn't even want it. He tapped his fingers on the edge, something to do instead of getting out a cigarette. "My mom died when I was born. Never told anyone who my dad was. It's not my favorite time of year either."

They saluted each other once more, finishing the drinks. She tossed the cup into the 'vomit bucket' next to the throne and swung her feet to the ground, pushing up and walking to sit across from him. In profile, she might have been even prettier, gazing out the window at the darkness, illuminated from behind by the little twinkle lights hanging around the wooden frame. He leaned his head against the glass, watching her momentarily, the brightness in her eyes contrasting to the dark shadow around them, the shine along her ear of earrings.

She stuck her tongue out a second, fiddling with the tongue ring. He gulped. "You didn't have that earlier," he mumbled. She turned her head, smiling and sticking out the barbell. His cock twitched eagerly in his pants and he sat up gingerly, mindful. "Did it hurt?"

"Not really. Not as much as the nipple piercing." His eyes bugged out, a nipple piercing!? Fuck that was hot. He was now very uncomfortable. She giggled. "I'm kidding. I don't have one of those. Just ears and this. Got it when my friend got her nose pierced. Thought, what the fuck,why not." She lightly touched her earring, fiddling. He keyed in on a tattoo hidden behind her ear. It wasn't the harp; it was a little crown. It must mean something, he thought, like the three dragons on her wrist.

She caught him watching and smiled. She tapped the tattoo. “A crown, for my brother Viserys. He always said he was a king." She turned her head and touched the harp. "Harp, for my brother Rhaegar. He played the harp." She ran her fingertips on the three dragons, whispering. “Three dragons, for the three of us. The three Targaryens.” She nodded to him, casual. “You have any? Tattoos?”

He nodded, chuckling. “Aye.” It was of a wolf, on his ribcage. He liked to think it represented everything he wanted to be. She cocked her head, curious. He shrugged. “I’m not stripping for you just yet.” As much as he wanted to, seven hells.

She smirked. “Is it on your dick or your ass or something?”

“Ribs.” He took a deep breath. A moment later, he leaned closer to her, smelling peppermint and whiskey. It was a nice combination, actually. She leaned into him, eyes darting to his lips. He waited a beat; she didn't move. Didn't even make a sarcastic comment.

Heart hammering against his ribs, he lifted his hand to cup the back of her head, knocking her elf hat askew. He angled slightly and brushed his mouth over hers, teasing. She moaned softly and reached up to grip his jaw, her mouth opening under his, barely. The invitation there, he happily stepped in, his tongue sweeping between her lips to glide against hers.

And that was when store alarm went off.

"Fuck!" Dany yelped, biting on his bottom lip in her surprise. He yelped, falling backwards, splashing the rest of the whiskey over him. He cringed; now Santa really smelled like an alcoholic. He got up, watching her race to the alarm panel at the back of the stupid store, hitting his head against the wooden frame behind him. In doing so, he knocked down a bunch of fake snow, which landed on him, coating him in tinsel, bits of paper, and cotton.

He sighed. At least he wasn't hard as a rock anymore.

Dany slinked around the corner, chuckling. "Sorry Santa, I've got to wait for the alarm company to call when it's a false one like this." She smirked. "See you tomorrow."

Jon groaned, hitting his head into his hands. Yeah, tomorrow. Two more days.

* * *

It was finally done. The bet fulfilled. The last kid out the door about two hours ago. Dany locked up, flicking the sign over, and let out a gleeful scream, throwing her arms in the air, and bounced in place a moment, her tinsel wreath falling off. “We’re done!” she exclaimed, laughing and spinning. “Fucking finally!”

He let out a loud, long “Fuck!” of his own, instantly ripping off the Santa hat and beard. He scratched his jaw, yawning. “Thank fuck, seriously, I think this thing is giving me an allergic reaction.”

“Oh poor baby, talk to me about your problems. I’m done with the sexy elf bullshit,” Dany called from the register, cashing out the register till. She had a series of closing procedures to get through, which was fine. Gave him time to run out to the car and get her Christmas present. He felt a little foolish about it; they’d known each other all of five days. It was the fastest he'd ever fallen for anyone.

It might have been the first morning when she stole his whiskey and marched out. Or the absolute disgust she had for Jorah and put him in his place on the regular. The ability to be both bored and polite to the kids coming in for their Santa pictures. The hard exterior, all piercings and tattoos and heavy makeup, but her soft interior—gods forbid anyone witness it. He felt stupid, earlier, running out during a break to one of the only open gift shops in the town square. Arya caught him—made fun of him—then helped him wrap the fucking thing.

Anxiety rippled through him and he lit a cigarette to stave off the worst of it. He puffed nervously, rummaging in the back of the Jeep, through dirty clothes, coats, Ghost’s hair, and assorted dog junk that accumulated with every trip. He took out the small package, studied it a moment, and shook his head, rolling his eyes upwards to the starry sky. “Okay Jon, don’t fuck this up,” he murmured. He shoved it into the Santa jacket pocket and grabbed the whiskey bottle he’d also picked up.

The room glowed upon his return, aided by the twinkle lights and the Christmas trees. He caught sight of her, standing in the window display, fiddling with an ornament on one of the trees, watching it twirl each time she touched it. He didn’t realize how small she was. _Elf-like_ , he chuckled, walking forwards. His boots creaked on the hardwood, forcing her attention towards him. He lifted up the small present and the whiskey. “Merry Christmas,” he teased.

“Merry Christmas,” she grinned, stepping from the window. She went around the counter and knelt, emerging a moment later with two glasses that looked like moose heads, the handles the antlers. He snorted, while she laughed, dancing around the counter holding them aloft. “A shitty present from Jorah, along with a bottle of wine and an invitation to dinner.”

“I hope you kicked him in the balls.”

“Arya did that for me later when he tried to kick her out of the office before, he made a move. Your cousin is terrifying.” She hopped up onto the counter and he cracked the seal on the whiskey bottle, pouring a hefty amount into each of the glasses. She cocked her head, eyeing him curiously. “She said you were military. I didn’t know that.”

Not really something he liked to talk about. He shrugged, handing her the glass. The clinked them and took a sip each, drinking quietly until he answered. “I got out a year ago. Was in the Night’s Watch.”

“Sexy.” He squinted; not really something people said about them. They were rather mysterious, sure. It was a secret organization within the Westerosi military, but beyond that, most people thought they just were a relic from a time gone by. They weren’t necessarily wrong about that.

He arched his brow, smirking. “Sexy? Really?”

The impish smile returned to her lips; she waggled her tongue, the ruby in her tongue ring twinkling. “Yeah, well, I heard you guys don’t wear anything under those furs.”

Ah, that pervasive rumor. It was his turn to tease, waggling his brows, and she giggled, girlish, around the rim of her cup. His voice dropped, hoarse, whispering. “Well, well, well…Wouldn’t you like to know Ms. Targaryen?” Of course they wore underwear, they had to, the furs were necessary because it was so fucking freezing above the Wall. He had spent many a night wondering if his balls would ever descend back from his stomach where they burrowed for warmth the entire time he was up there. Especially in the winter. He shivered in memory, wishing he could forget it, but sometimes it came back.

It was why he liked to forget. He fucking loved the military, but it wasn’t like he left on good terms. She sipped her drink, gaze unblinking, intense. She swallowed, a long pull, and cleared her throat, quiet. “It wasn’t a good time for you, huh?”

“Not particularly.”

“Reason why you’re in a Santa suit for Christmas and living with a hundred roommates?”

“Something like that.”

She waited a beat, eyebrow arching, silently questioning. They might as well talk. He ran his tongue over his teeth. He shrugged. “I loved the military. Loved the Night’s Watch. Unfortunately, my men didn’t like me very much.” His eyes darkened, skin chilling, and he was back on that Wall, freezing and scared, bleeding out. He swallowed the lump in his throat, whispering. “They did not want to follow my command for a raid. They were cowards. It was dangerous. Their reaction was to disobey and when I wrote them up on charges, one of them decided to come at me with a knife.” The scars on his chest ached, phantom pain, but for him it was real.

“Fuck,” she cursed softly. She moved closer to him; violet eyes wide. “Are you still in pain?”

_She didn’t ask if he was alright. Didn’t say sorry._ It made him smile; she was more understanding than anyone else. He shook his head. “Not really, not like before.” He was just…lost, alone, all that bullshit. He shrugged. “Just figuring shit out. And you?”

It was his way of stopping the depressing talk about his military service and subsequent exit. They’d want to drink themselves to death if they kept talking about it. Besides, it was his turn to play twenty questions. He backed away from the counter, bringing their little sad pity party of sorts over to the Santa throne. He fell into it, while she climbed up into the sleigh beside him, moving things around so she could stretch out on the seat and cross her ankles on the edge. Her elf booties chimed. He kicked off his boots and contemplated taking off the damn Santa suit, but _nah_ , he’d wait.

She set down her empty glass, reaching forward to take off the booties, grunting with the effort. Her toes cracked and she stood, wiggling down her sparkling stockings, speaking. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what are you doing in the North?”

“Ex-boyfriend.”

He arched a brow. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” She balled up the stockings, shoving them in one of the boots and tossed them out of the sleigh. She hopped onto the back of it, smiling sarcastically. It was a common enough look on her, he’d grown used to it, but now he thought there was an extra bite to it. She sighed. “Prick dumped me after I agreed to come move up to White Harbor with him. Piece of shit. Anyway, I didn’t want to head South quite yet. Came here. Got the job. I’m a photographer.”

“Really?” He didn’t know that. He chuckled. “And this was the only…”

“Photography gig, yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll head south soon enough, but…” she trailed off, locking gazes with him once more. Her tongue ran over her lips, head cocking. A bell rang from somewhere in one of her braids. “Something might keep me here a little longer…still figuring that out.”

It was the opening he needed. He shifted and reached into his pocket, removing the gift. He stood and walked over, leaning over the edge of the sleigh, handing her the little bag. He didn’t say anything. This was not his strong suit. Dany took it, saying nothing, and opened it, removing the little black and red dragon figurine. It wasn’t much. A trinket, something a kid would buy with their allowance. He felt dumb giving it to her. She fondled it a moment, running her thumb across the snarling face, and he began to stutter, trying to stammer out an explanation, backtrack on the idiocy of. “I saw your tattoo and well um, I know you like…dragons and so I just…”

The lights glinted off her eyes, shimmering. She pressed her lips together tight, throat constricting, emotion obviously overcoming her. He stuttered. “It’s stupid I just…”

“Thank you.”

He blinked. She studied him, smiling, her eyes still shining. He flushed warm. “You’re welcome.”

She gently tucked the dragon into her pocket. “Um…I got you something too.”

Now it was his turn to be surprised. “Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what’d you get me?” He leaned over the sleigh, but she was climbing out of it, advancing on him, until he was falling backwards into the throne, his heart beginning to beat faster, blood rushing straight from his head to his cock, as she nudged his knees aside, her fingers grazing along his thigh. His mouth fell open, tongue darting out to lick his very dry lips, breath catching when she reached around behind her. His voice croaked. “What are you doing?”

Dany wrinkled her nose, smiling and teasing. “Merry Christmas.” She removed her hand, holding up a sprig of plastic mistletoe, giggling. He grinned; _fucking finally_. She dropped the mistletoe, his hands grabbing at her hips, bunching the velvet green material under his fingers, rising to meet her as she lowered her head to his.

The kiss was fucking perfect. Her lips were firm, insistent, demanding. He kissed her eagerly, unable to stop smiling against her. She giggled, their teeth clashing and noses pressing hard, laughing together. She darted her tongue out to sweep along his bottom lip, thrusting forward to tangle with his tongue. He groaned, fingers disappearing into her curls, knocking aside her tinsel crown.

She pushed him by his shoulders, knocking him into the throne. “Sit down Santa,” she murmured, fingers dragging down his chest, pulling at the buttons of the coat. He smiled, goofy and rather dazed, head lolling to the side, watching the naughty gleam in her eyes, the fat black of her pupils drowning the violet. She lowered her body over his, warm lips rubbing his, sharp teeth nipping his bottom lip, and pecking along his jaw, down the heady pulse in his throat, along his collarbone, and slowly over his exposed chest. He stilled his hand in her hair, when she paused on his scars.

Rocking onto her heels, she pulled away. He closed his eyes; fuck, _buzzkill_. “It’s fine,” he murmured, when she lightly touched the nasty one over his heart.

She nodded. Didn’t need to know more or ask any further questions. Part of why we get each other, he idly thought, watching her face carefully for any sign that this was going to end. Until she rose up, kissing him; this time it was harder, desperate. He gripped her head, returning the desperation. She broke away, sloppily, biting his bottom lip before sending more open-mouth kisses raining over his chest, lowering herself down his body.

_Oh fucking fuck_ , he thought, closing his eyes and leaning farther down in the throne, stretching his legs out to accommodate her. The cool metal of her tongue ring tracked a path over his flexing abdomen, around his navel, and down the faint line of hair leading to his belt buckle. “Fuck,” he groaned, hand dropping to her curls. He forced his eyes open to watch her; to burn this memory into his subconscious for the rest of time.

Her smile pulled wide, chuckling. “Sit back Santa, let me give you a little ho, ho, ho.”

“Fuck Dany.” His laugh strangled, catching in his throat.

The belt clinked, deft fingers pushing it aside, and he lifted his hips off the throne so she could tug at his briefs, and the fucking red velvet pants. His cock was hard, heavy, and flushed red, already leaking and desperately wanting to bury itself into her. He was hoarse, needy, and fuck, if she didn’t get this going now, he was going to push her back into the fucking sleigh and see if she tasted as sweet as he had dreamed she did since the day he met her.

She didn’t waste time, kissing him quickly, biting his tongue before she swooped down, her fingers tugging at the base of his cock, slowly dragging up the length of it, twisting and teasing, while her other hand fondled his balls. He closed his eyes, unable to keep them open, and allowed himself to drown in the sensations, the heat from her hands and then her mouth, engulfing him. He rocked his hips into her, fingers holding her head down as she braced a hand on his hip while her other continued to follow her lips, head bobbing up and down over his cock.

_Fuck, she’s good_ , he thought, a high-pitched whine he didn’t know he had in him escaping, because suddenly there was something different. Cool and metallic, contrasting against the suctioning heat. It wasn’t her lips, it was…”Oh fuck,” he exclaimed, panting, realizing. His eyes sprang open, and he watched, fascinated, the red ruby on her tongue ring flicking out, dragging at the sensitive underside of his cock, swiveling around the head, and back down again. Her eyes twinkled, knowing exactly what she was doing. He babbled, incoherent, unable to stop himself, a hand on her cheek, the other dropping to the back of her head.

She worked him over, cheeks hollowing, her own satisfied groans mingling with his increasingly impatient ones. It was the best he’d ever had, hands down. Nothing compared. He could die right here. She bent over him, fingers and lips moving up and down, squeezing and tugging. It did not take very long; she was good. He felt it deep in his gut, the tightening in his balls, the tingling in the base of his spine, warning him. “Dany, fuck, I’m gonna’ come,” he exclaimed, warning her, wanting to get her on her back as soon as possible—or her knees—he really didn’t care, so long as he could finish inside of her.

She hummed around him, her mascara and eyeshadow smeared from her tearing eyes, spittle and precum dripping down her swollen red lips, stretched around to accommodate him in her snug mouth. The tongue ring came out again, flicking, and swirling, and then he was gone.

Everything went black, his body bowing up to meet her; she didn’t release him, until she’d taken everything he’d offered, hot spurts shooting into her mouth. It didn’t end, his entire consciousness hurtling through a dark chasm, every nerve ending tingling in warmth, contentment washing in waves over him. He blinked a couple times, refocusing, as best he could. He gazed down, in awe. Her eyes met his and she grinned, swallowing, and finally releasing him with an obscene pop. She ran her hands up and down his thighs, soothing him from the high. “Fucking hells you’re good at that,” he mumbled, eyelids heavy, unable to stay up longer than a second. He was breathing deep; he needed a fucking cigarette.

She rose over him, pushing the Santa suit completely from his shoulders, and straddled his hips. His limp cock rested against his stomach as she pushed over him. His eyes widened, a hot, moist slickness coating it with a rolling, sinuous move of her hips. She wasn’t wearing panties, her cunt already dripping, teasing him for what was to come. He never wanted to recover more in his life; he had to be inside of her. “I’ve wanted to suck your cock since I first met you,” she confessed.

“Really?” That was a startling revelation. “I thought you hated me.”

“Yeah well.” She wrinkled her nose, chuckling. “Sure, I hated you, but I still wanted to suck your cock.” She brushed her mouth over his; he groaned, briefly tasting himself on her lips.

A memory appeared, sparked by the sight of her cum-eating grin, the softness in her warm, amethyst eyes. He traced his thumb across her kiss stung bottom lip, one of her silver braids loose from the crown around her head, falling over her bejeweled ear. He moved to tuck it back, whispering. “I had a dream the day I met you.”

“Hmm. You did?”

“I didn’t know it was you.” A silver-haired, beautiful woman, with purple eyes… He snapped his teeth at her, a giggle emitting from her. “A silver haired woman going down on me. Guess it was a premonition.”

“Guess so.” She lifted up, hands braced on his chest, her nails scratching at his nipples, a hiss leaving his lips at the sharp bite. She smiled over him. “Soo…” she drawled, kissing him briefly; her breasts teased his chest, the velvet elf dress tickling his overheated skin. She smirked. “You gonna’ fuck me Santa, or do I have to get myself off?”

It might have been the orgasm, or the dirty words from her sensuous lips, or the brushing tease of her hot cunt on his cock, but he growled, a beast inside taking over. He grabbed her by the back of her head, tangling silver braids and curls around his fist, claiming her lips in a feral kiss, hot and open-mouthed. She gasped, startled, and he took the opportunity to launch to his feet, kicking off the fucking Santa pants while he was at it.

Her legs snapped around his hips, and he spun around, dropping her hard onto the Santa throne. She grunted softly, head hitting back on the overstuffed pillows behind her. Jon tore at her elf dress and she helped him by shaking it off. He feasted on her breasts, spilling out of a red lace bra, which he tore off soon enough, taking a good look at her, a foot up on the arm of the chair, the other on the edge of the seat next to her, chest flushed and rising and falling.

Jon burned that sight into his memory too. The milky pale of her skin, breasts full and rosy-tipped, nipples tight and hard. The beautiful petal like lips of her cunt. He was distracted by a movement and followed the path of her fingers from where she’d been tweaking her nipples, and over the flat, soft plane of her belly, and eventually to where she grazed them to rest just above a neatly shorn thatch of damp silver curls. His mouth salivated at the chance to taste her, her cunt puffy, glossy pink and waiting, inner thighs smeared with her slick heat. She pressed her index finger between the lips, swirling around inside her cunt and dragged it up to circle her clit, swollen and peeking out at him. He licked his dry lips, a wolf ready to eat.

He kept his eyes on hers, and knelt between her legs, and it was his turn to drive her insane. She was smiling, cocky, and he looked forward to wiping that smile off her face. Which he soon did, getting his first taste with a long, slow lick from cleft to clit, nuzzling his nose against her clit. He pressed a kiss to it and teased it, before gently sucking on it, while his tongue slid inside of her and his fingers got to work. He grinned wide into her, hand grabbing her thigh and pressing it up, thumb in the groove of her hip, while she squealed, her other leg instinctively tightening around his head.

“Oh fuck Jon!” she exclaimed, panting. She began to undulate her hips, rolling against his mouth, mumbling incoherently. The sounds she began to make, the mewls, whines, and pants, were fucking music to his ears. He loved eating pussy, loved making a woman feel good, and he was determined to give back to Dany the same thing she’d given to him. Maybe it started as a mutual attraction, born out of her distaste of basically anything and anyone, and his strange fetish for women who were mean to him on the offset. Except now it was something entirely different. He was buying her presents for gods’ sakes.

And he wanted her. Not just to fuck her, but he _wanted_ her. It didn’t make sense. They knew next to nothing about each other, but these last five days had been _fun_. Minus the dressing as Santa, listening to kids scream and demand and be general pieces of shit. He found he looked forward to it, the last couple days, getting to see her.

He pushed her thigh up higher, her heel digging into his shoulder, his tongue diving into her hot, tight channel, his cock recovering nicely at the notion that soon it would be buried inside her too. He pressed his fingertips in first, feathering them over her mound, sliding, teasing, crude mimicry of what she’d been doing to him earlier.

She tasted so fucking sweet, like he’d eaten all the Christmas candy in the world, he thought briefly, his tongue lapping at her dripping slit, moaning softly as she gushed into his mouth the more he worked her, finding every spot inside that drive her wild. Her cunt began to tighten around his fingers, which pressed and found the spot inside of her that elicited the highest, loudest cry.

Lifting his eyes up, he watched the pleasure ripple on her face, mouth open and crying out, the arch of her back and neck, her breasts swaying as she rolled her hips against his mouth, and her hand pressed over her forehead and into her hair, while her other pushed on his, fingers wrapping around the messy bun, his hair loosely falling down over his forehead.

It hit her the same as it did him; he felt it in the quiver of her thighs, the pulse of her cunt on his fingers, and the sudden rush of her tangy wetness on his tongue. She bowed up, sobbing, the climax intense and prolonged. He didn’t pull away from her, continuing to gently tease her, knowing she would be sensitive. He traced his tongue around her clit, savoring her lingering whines.

He rolled onto his heels, wiping his hand idly over his damp beard, and pushed to his feet. She was limp, gasping for breath, and opened her eyes slowly to peer at him. He flashed a grin and dragged her up off the throne. She groaned, mouth finding his. He turned her around, pressing her towards the sleigh. “I need you inside me,” she begged, arm lifting to wrap around his neck, as he kissed down her neck to her shoulder, pushing her up to the sleigh. She pushed her arse into his cock, wiggling. “Fuck me Jon. Hard.”

  
He tripped on his pants and reached into the back pocket for his wallet. He cringed finding nothing. “Fucking fuck,” he cursed, closing his eyes. _How could he forget?_ “No condom.”

Aside from the eye roll she sent his way, he didn’t think she was too put out. She groaned, wiggling again. ”I’m on the pill.”

  
Well, he didn’t need to be asked twice. He watched her hands anchor on the side of the sleigh and kissed up to take her mouth again, her head bent back, kissing her hard and fast. His cock nestled in the cleft of her arse a moment, before he reached down between them and teased it along her opening. He grinned into her laugh, tapping the head of his cock on her clit a moment. She laugh again, until she was crying out once more. Her hand fell from the sleigh to take his, pressing it to her cunt.

With one, hard punch of his hips, he was inside of her, no more teasing. _And holy shit, praise the Old Gods_. It was fucking amazing. It felt like he was being smothered by fire. The feel of her mouth, the way she had gripped his fingers, it was nothing compared to this. Hot, silky, tight. He pressed his forehead into her neck, gasping, needing to focus a moment. Or try to before he made a fool of himself. 

It was impossible with the way she was now moving against him, sliding back to seat him deeper inside of her. He didn’t think he could be deeper in her than he already was, but leave it to her to prove him wrong. “Oh Gods Dany,” he mumbled. He groaned into her shoulder. “Fuck, you feel so good…fuck.” He tried to take a few breaths; but found he couldn’t. There was too much pressure in his chest. It had never been like this before, cheesy though that may be. He wasn’t sure where it was coming from, a shift in the air, his body reacting in ways it had never before, anxious and desperate. He pressed the heel of his hand in between her shoulder blades, using the leverage to pull back, almost clear out of her, and then thrust forward, the force of his hips slamming her hard against the sleigh. One of the reindeer fell over with a clatter.

She cried out, grabbing the sleigh in one hand, her knuckles white. “Fuck! Oh gods, fuck Jon, yes!” Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard bells, mingling with her shouts. Maybe from some still in her hair, or on the fucking sleigh, he had no idea. He became mindless, bent over her, his fingers tangled in hers, both furiously rubbing at her clit; he dragged them away, leaving her to do it herself so he could grip her hips, pulling her hard onto his cock. He couldn’t breathe, sweat beading on his skin, grunts and groans coming from a place deep inside he’d never accessed before. Every bit of her was fucking amazing. His stomach clenched, muscles rippling as he held her tighter and fucked her harder.

The mindless moans from before were nothing compared to what was coming out of her now, babbling in a language he suspected was Valyrian. “ _Kessa, kessa, qopsa…”_ She was so wet he could hear it, the obscene sounds of their coupling, coating him and dripping down her thigh. It spurred him forward, groaning and panting, trying to breathe through the intensity of what was going through him in that moment.

As good as this felt, he needed to see her face, to find her, and be with her. He suddenly let go, pulling out of her and delighting as she whined, shaking her head. “No, Jon, what…” She didn’t complain long. He fell into the sleigh, on the bench, dragging her over him by her thighs, thumbs branding her hips. She planted her knees on either side of his thighs and sank onto him almost immediately, flush against him, her breasts crushed to his chest.

She rocked against him, taking the lead, as he dug his fingers first into her hip and then up around her shoulders, bringing her mouth to his. It was difficult to kiss her and breathe at the same time, so he was fine with dying. The sleigh rocked preciously from side to side, knocking something over near them, probably one of the stupid figurines. Her fingers brushed against where they joined and he glanced down, almost passing out at the sight of his cock pistoling in and out over body, which seemed to swallow him whole. He felt her climax, before she did, her cunt pulsing erratically around him, and she cried out a moment later, strangled. It rippled through her, and she gasped, breaking the kiss as wave after wave hit her again. Ripped her apart from the inside out, before it did the same with him too.

Their eyes met, grey on violet, and he wasn’t sure what was shining back at him. He swore he saw himself in her look, the uncertainty, the desperation to _feel_ something, or someone. He tensed, mouth falling open, and thrust harder into her, coming as intensely as he had before, cock twitching, muscles tensing and locking. He groaned, long and loud, emptying everything he had inside of her. There was no end, blood rushing in his ears like a freight train, flying along forever as he kept pumping into her. She took everything he offered, squeezing him tight, milking every drop. His hand remained in her hair, holding her head as he kissed her and her nails tearing into his shoulders. He had one hand on her thigh, trying to pull her harder into him. It wasn’t possible, they were practically fused together. She continued to grind down, rubbing her clit against his pelvic bone, and then she was coming too, squeezing around him, arms and legs and cunt, and he didn’t think he ever wanted to be anywhere else, but with her.

It was more than sex. He didn’t know what to say. He never really knew what to say before, but now he _really_ didn’t know what to say. This was supposed to be fun. It definitely wasn’t fun…it was something else. He wrapped her up in his arms, finding her mouth, wanting to hold her, to not let her go.

He felt oddly found.

Dany scratched her fingers down his beard, cupping his cheek, gentle. He stroked her hair and felt her slip off him. Exhausted, emotionally and physically spent, they both tumbled off the sleigh and into a pile of the velvet costumes on the floor. There was a blanket that had been in the sleigh and he tugged it down and over them. Bright white lights continued to sparkle behind his closed eyelids. He opened one, realizing that they were under one of the trees, heads pillowed on the fluffy white tree skirt.

There was tinsel in her hair. It made it look like there was a halo around her head, like a fucking angel. Jon turned to face her, plucking it loose, and showing it to her. She giggled, taking it from him and sprinkled it on his hair. “What’s that?” he murmured, unable to stop smiling.

“Just some flair, you know. Christmas magic.” She pillowed her head on her folded hands. Her face was relaxed, sleepy and she was thoroughly well-fucked, he liked to think. He reached over and flicked one of her earrings, watching the little dragon dangle back and forth a moment before it stilled.

He skimmed his hand down her shoulder and rested on her side. He blinked, noting there was ink along her left ribcage, just under her heart. “A lightning bolt,” he murmured, his thumb grazing it. She shivered, skin pebbling under the movement.

Dany hummed, moving closer to him, her arm draping over his hip. “It’s a storm. For my nickname. Stormborn.” She whispered, sad. “My mother called me that. It’s close to my heart. Where she is.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

“It’s fine.”

They stared at each other for a few moments more, until at the same time they pushed towards each other, kissing softly. He cupped her face, gentle, light. He wrapped her up in his arms, tugging her to his chest, and closed his eyes, her head slipping into the crook of his shoulder, fitting perfectly. He smiled into her hair, whispering. “You know I lost a bet to be here, right?”

“Hmm, I think you said so.”

“Aye, well…I’m glad I did lose that bet.” He tracked the pad of his finger along her eyebrow and the line of her nose and to the bow of her lips. He smiled, memorizing every inch of her face. He never wanted to forget it. He chuckled. “Probably the second-best Christmas gift I’ve gotten.”

“Oh yeah?” She rubbed against him, lips brushing his. He groaned, her leg slinging over his hips. “And what’s the first?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Hmm, tell me.”

He captured her mouth in another bruising kiss, rolling her under the tree, and savoring the soft moans from her. He pulled away long enough to whisper “You”, before he swept her up in another kiss.

* * *

Everything was warm, soft, and Jon did _not_ want to get up, even though he thought he probably should. He was floating amongst the clouds, fluffy, weightless. He mumbled into Dany’s hair, tossed over his face, nuzzling his nose to her temple, his lips seeking her fragrant skin, now sticky from sweat and sex. “You smell good,” he murmured, hugging her tight. She was so soft, giving in all the right places, her thigh draped over his, and one of her breasts pillowed on his chest, nipple scraping teasingly over his when she shifted, moaning incoherently into his shoulder.

She murmured something, lips pressing to his ribs, on his tattoo, which she’d explored at length an hour or so ago, tracing the snarling wolf with her tongue ring—he’d discovered the joys of such an object multiple times that evening and early morning. “What’s that sound?” she rasped; voice thick from sleep.

He didn’t hear anything but the tiny little moans from her, courtesy of his kisses along her jaw, tilting her head back as his left hand skimmed up and down her back and his other fondled her breast, fingers pinching at her pebbling nipple. He’d lost track of the number of orgasms between them, not that his lower region realized it, already stiffening in anticipation of the next round. “I don’t know,” he whispered, rolling her onto her back, preparing to settle between her thighs; she was slack under him, her cunt pink and swollen from their fucking, already glistening for him.

“Hmm Jon,” she mumbled, rolling against him. “Fuck you’re so good at that.”

He chuckled, preparing to move down her body, eager to get his mouth on her; she tasted so fucking sweet. “You taste good,” he whispered, about ready to start his feast, when he heard a sound, not sure if it was the one, she referred to. His head lifted, eyes darting sideways, under the tree. He frowned. “Dany? I hear something.”

“Yes,” she panted, nails digging into his hair. “Yes, you do, it’s me.”

“No, it’s…”

They both rocketed upwards, locking eyes, panicked. It was the alarm beeping; someone had opened the back door. “Did you set the alarm?” he hissed.

“Um no, I wanted to fuck you I didn’t give a shit about the alarm,” she cursed, punching his shoulder, knocking him off of her. She hissed, jumping up and scrambling for her clothes. “Get dressed, fuck!”

“Daenerys?”

They both froze; Jon was halfway into his Santa pants and Dany had her elf coat on one arm. Neither moved nor breathed, hoping it was a dream. She held her finger to her lips, waiting a second, and Jon did not protest. He glanced at his boots, beside the throne. Dany’s were next to his. He licked his lips and waited a beat. Maybe he’d leave. _Please gods_ , he prayed, _make him leave._

Jorah Mormont was never one to take a hint, from the universe or otherwise. He called out again, worried. “Daenerys are you still here? Your car is out back and so is Jon’s, the alarm company called, the silent was going off…”

He closed his eyes, Dany glaring at him. That must have been from the counter, where they’d stumbled at one point to get more whiskey. Must have tripped it. Good to know the alarm company didn’t care if it took this long for someone to show up. Jon knelt slowly, silently, and put on the Santa coat. Dany moved to tug on the rest of her dress, holding it together and tip-toeing to the counter, motioning for him to edge to the front door.

“Jorah?”

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

She hissed back. “Shut up!” Louder, she buttoned up her coat, shouting. “I’m sorry Jorah I must have fallen asleep, busy day and all…um, guess the alarm tripped or something.” She walked around one of the figurines and confronted Jorah, who had appeared from the back. She ran her fingers through her tangled, messing hair, tinsel shaking loose. “Um, what’s up?” She turned, trying to get Jorah to follow her so she could put on her boots.

It gave Jon the exit he needed, without being seen, but he was _not_ going to leave Dany. Never leave a man behind, he was a former Night’s Watch Ranger after all. He was going to just admit he was there, but a look at the sleigh, the defiled reindeer and snowman statues and figures knocked this way and that, and the obvious stench of sex and depravity—it was all Dany’s fault for that one—gave them both away.

“Jon’s car is out back, where is he?” Jorah frowned, crossing his arms. He cocked his head, worried. “Daenerys is everything alright? Are you safe?”

She snorted. “Fine Jorah, look I’m going to get going…”

Perhaps they could have gotten away with it. They’d never know.

Because Jon, in his attempt to slip out the door, had bumped right into one of the dumb fucking animatronic elves near the front of the store, the loud thing screeching, “Welcome to Santa’s Village! Merry Christmas! Welcome to Santa’s Village!” “Fuck!” he shouted, swinging open the front door at the same time Dany let out a hysterical laugh, flying around Jorah and snagging the leftover bottle of whiskey in one move.

“What the fuck!” Jorah bellowed. He ran after them, looking at the mess they’d made in the Santa area. He swung open the door, shouting into the cold night. “You’re both fired!”

Jon grabbed Dany, who could not stop laughing, running after him, holding her stockings in one hand and the whiskey bottle in the other, while he tripped in his boots, the Santa coat open over his bare chest. He swung her around, waving back at Jorah. “Merry Christmas Jorah!”

“Fuck,” Dany laughed, jumping into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him hard as he grinned against her mouth, his arms wrapping around her bottom to hold her against him as they spun and stumbled around in the snow. She giggled nonstop. “I cannot believe that happened!”

He grinned, their teeth knocking together, too giggly to kiss properly. “I think I can.”

Dany dropped to her feet, hugging him. “I’m glad it did.”

It was clear, from her soft gaze, her wide smile, that she wasn’t talking about them getting fired. He nodded, hugging her close. “Me too.”

It was fucking freezing, but with the Christmas lights lit up all throughout the town, a light snowfall dusting over them, and the two of them spinning together, giggling and tripping towards possibly her apartment—Jon didn’t care. He felt warm all over, happy and satisfied. He was lost, he’d been missing something, but now it didn’t feel like that any longer.

He touched his forehead to hers, cradling her face in his palm, smiling. “You want to spend Christmas with me?”

She wrinkled her nose, nodding, whispering with a grin on her face. “Yes.”

“And New Year’s, maybe? Or is that pushing it?”

Dany twirled her fingers in his curls, her other hand gripping tight on the Santa suit’s fluffy white lapel, arching against him. “I really do hate this time of year,” she whispered, answering him, her eyebrows arching, lip curling over her teeth, if possible, her smile wider. “But I think I can make an exception for my Grinchy attitude.”

“Is that a yes?” he mumbled, lips hovering over hers.

She nodded quickly, lifting herself up, legs swinging around his hips. “Yes Jon. It’s a yes.”

_Thank the bloody gods_ , he laughed, swinging his arm under her legs to spin her around, bride-over-threshold-style, to her squealing glee. He glanced up at the town’s big clock in the main square, noting the time. He laughed. “Hey Dany?”

“Hmm?”

“Merry Christmas.”

She followed his gaze to the clock; it was almost three in the morning, Christmas Day. She looped her arms around him, the whiskey bottle knocking into his back. She giggled, kissing him hard, and mumbled. “Merry Christmas Jon.”

He grinned wider, if possible. “Remind me later,” he murmured, quirking his eyebrow. “To thank Theon.”

“Oh?”

“Aye,” he laughed, pressing his lips hard to hers, swallowing her further questioning, and spinning her around for extra measure. It was the last bet he’d ever lose again to Theon, he figured, but probably the best one he could have lost in the meantime.

* * *

Someone was moving under the covers next to her, which Dany liked, but she didn’t feel like getting up. It had been a long night. She mumbled into her arm, slung over her eyes, wondering momentarily if there had been a night where she slept quite so good. She couldn’t think of one. Jon Snow was a shitty Santa, but seven hells he was an amazing lover. He needed to patent his tongue. It was gods sent. Speaking of Jon’s tongue, she thought, sighing, smile flirting on her lips.

  
“Hmmm Jon…Merry Christmas to you,” she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut tighter, moaning softly at the raspy tongue on her stomach. She giggled, pressing against him. She sighed, thinking back to the previous evening, wondering what time it happened to be. Sometime Christmas Day, perhaps. They got back so ‘late’ she was sure that most children of Winterfell had already awoken to find their presents and torture their parents.

She twisted her hips, frowning momentarily. The tongue had gotten a lot…wetter. She made a face, opening her eyes. She cleared her throat, raspy voiced. “Um, Jon? I don’t like that. It’s kind of gross.”

The door to the bedroom pushed open, startling and confusing her both. Jon waltzed in, bare-chested, in a pair of black boxer briefs and her elf-coat wore like a very short robe, sunglasses hiding his eyes. His hair was a black halo around his head, tinsel still stuck in it. He held two mugs of steaming coffee and a cigarette between his lips. “Morning,” he mumbled around the cigarette, setting down a mug to take out the cigarette, holding it in his fingertips and blowing a stream of smoke out a cracked window—which explained why she was so fucking cold. He smirked at her. “Heard you in the hallway, you getting yourself off already? Am I not enough for you?”

This made zero sense, as he was under the covers so...“No I…” Dany jerked up; eyes wide, fully awake. She flipped up the covers and yelped, a pair of gleaming red eyes peering up at her. Before she could question, a massive white dog escaped out from underneath the blankets, tongue lolling happily. “Ah! What the fuck!”

Jon stubbed his smoke out, laughing. “Ghost! You disgusting pervert, leave her alone!” He tackled the massive white animal, who whined and danced, turning several circles before he jumped up onto the bed again, continuing his happy dance. The dog licked her face, tongue wet and sloppy, before he leaped off the bed and ran out the half-open door, nails clicking on the hardwood.

She froze, blinking, too surprised to figure out what was happening. It had been a rather strange evening all around. “Oh my gods,” she mumbled, head falling back onto the pillow. “That was terrifying.”

“I can’t believe you thought it was me.”

“Why was he licking my stomach?”

”Maybe from the whipped cream off you last night?”

So that’s why she smelled like hot chocolate. They’d made it but then he wanted to sample whipped cream from her and not the cocoa mug. She shuddered. “Gross. Now there’s dog drool all over me.”

“He’s disgusting, but he has good taste,” Jon teased, sinking onto the bed next to her and handing her the mug. He looked ridiculous, even though it made her smile. He had a way about him, a way she’d come to really like. She plucked his sunglasses off, he winced at the sunlight streaming through the window above his bed. “Fuck.”

She tweaked the elf coat, curious. “What is this about?”

“Reasons.”

“Hmm.”

They finished a few sips of coffee, Jon taking off the coat and diving beneath the covers with her. It was fun, knowing there was nothing planned for the day but being here with him. She giggled, cuddling up to him, surprised at how much she actually _liked_ him. The first morning he showed up, she had been pissed, not wanting to deal with his drama. Then it became obvious he wasn’t the trash heap that was Theon. He was funny and earnest and there was the sadness lurking under his “I don’t give a shit” attitude.

It scared her, each time he came into the store, as disheveled as he was, a mess in more than just his looks. Like finds like, she supposed, and was rather surprised to discover someone as messed up as her. Christmas being the shitty holiday it was for her, she resisted, but not very hard.

Jon Snow in his too-large Santa suit, with his sullen gray eyes, slightly problematic drinking habit, and those infuriating messy black curls, had managed to do the impossible.

He’d made her _happy_ about Christmas.

She kissed him lightly, arms snaking around his neck, as he pulled her thigh over his hip. He groaned against her as she began to roll her hips slowly against his, her fingers skimming over his abdomen—and those horrible scars—to disappear under his briefs. “Hmm,” she mumbled over his mouth, breaths warm and mingling. “Do you have to be downstairs soon? For family stuff?”

“Fuck no.”

“Thank gods.” Dany slid along him, unable to stop kissing him; he was a sublime kisser, his lips plump and soft, tongue gliding along hers slowly, savoring the moment.

Until the door burst open again.

“What the fuck do you live in?” she groaned, tearing from his lips as he stuck his head up from their blanket cocoon. She punched his shoulder. “Does anyone even knock?”

“Get up Jon! It’s Christmas!” someone shouted, a man judging from the pitch and volume. Another man joined in, laughing loudly, chiming: “Looks like Jon found himself a Mrs. Claus.”

Dany yelped, grabbing the covers to shield her tits, Jon having sat up to see who was barging in. He looked up, idly and not interested. “Fuck off Theon!” he shouted, throwing something from his nightstand at the laughing man standing in the doorway, another popping his head in, waving at her. Jon glared at this man, giving him the finger. “Get the fuck out Robb!”

Robb, she presumed, waggled his tongue and waved. “Merry Christmas ma’am, I hope Jon has been treating you quite well this morning. Judging from the sounds, I think so. Good for you.” He laughed. “Also Jon, can I ask why there’s a Santa suit super-glued to Theon’s door? He’s pissed.”

_Theon_? She poked Jon’s ribs, arching her brows. “Um, I was supposed to remind you to thank Theon? Does that still stand?”

“Oh aye, that’s right.” Jon bellowed. “Hey Theon, you wanker! Thanks!”

“For what?” Theon shouted, returning to the door clearly pissed and holding the remnants of a Santa suit in his hand, shaking it at him. “Do you know how expensive this was? Jorah is going to kill me. You owe me!”

“Hmm, thanks for making that bet mate.”

Dany waved at Theon, grinning at him. It had been a week. He was nice but between his pervy behavior and Jorah, she couldn’t function. “Hey Theon. Nice to see you again.”

“Dany?” he gaped. He glanced between them, waving the suit between them. Jon took that moment to drape an arm over her shoulders and stick his bare foot out from the covers. It was clear they were naked underneath. Finally Theon got it. “Wait…you two…and you…” Fury crossed his face, Robb grabbing hold of his shoulders, dragging him back. “The fuck! You said you didn’t date coworkers Dany!”

“Yeah,” she answered, shrugging. “I don’t date creepy coworkers!”

“Fuck you Snow!”

“Back at you Greyjoy!”

“Gods I love this house,” Robb sighed, stepping aside to let Ghost run and leap up into the bed with them, slamming the door closed with a laughing smirk. He shouted through the thin wood. “Merry Christmas, I owe Arya fifty stags, she had you guys boning by Christmas, I said New Years.”

She glanced at Jon, who was sheepish, ducking his head. “Oh?”

“I had no idea.”

She chuckled. She knew he didn’t. She sighed. “You have a weird house here.”

In the bed, a dancing Ghost finally settled, turning around a few times before he settled between them, chewing on the Santa hat, tail beating at her leg like a metronome, clearly not leaving any time soon. He was so sweet. She laughed, scratching his soft head, accepting the kiss from the dog—wet and sloppy on her cheek—before she planted one on Jon’s cheek, giggling. She had never spent a Christmas like this before. She hesitated, meeting his gaze, shining back at her. She smiled wide, whispering truthfully. “I think this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

He slipped his arm underneath her shoulders, wrapping her up and hugging her to his chest, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “Same Dany, same.”

A few minutes later, they were cuddled up together, with their coffee, watching Ghost play with a couple of his new toys, which he’d apparently discovered already from where Jon had ‘hidden’ them in the closet. She had rummaged in her pocket and plucked out the dragon figure he’d gotten her, holding it close and tracing the face of it, still smitten by such a kind and thoughtful gift. Meanwhile, Jon flicked through his phone, looking for new jobs for them both.

He handed the phone to her. “Photography gig for New Year’s Eve.”

She smirked. “Only if they dress you as the New Years baby.”

He shrugged. “After Santa, I think I can do anything.”

Dany kept her mouth closed, chuckling instead, thinking it wouldn’t do well to tell him that he was probably the worst Santa there ever was. “Sure Jon,” she lied, smiling up at him. “Best Santa ever.”


	2. bad reindeer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany gets a brilliant idea.
> 
> Poor Ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these messy fools.
> 
> That is all.

* * *

"Your cousin got you weed gummies for Christmas?"

"Yup."

"Why?" Not that she was really complaining. Just a curious gift.

"Dunno, 'tis the damn season," Jon sang, popping a peppermint flavored gummy into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, gazing up at the moonlight, blanketing them with a pearly glow as they sat on the lower terrace, in front of an ancient fire pit. He slumped down in the chair, arm around her as she tossed a gummy into the air and caught it in her mouth, snapping her jaws closed around it like a dragon with its prey.

They weren't bad, she figured, handing him another one, feeding it between his lips and chased it with a kiss, savoring the crystallized sugar still on his lips, the taste of peppermint and ashes and the eggnog they were guzzling before Robb realized they'd stolen it-- he apparently needed it for a date that night.

She was entwined around him, a blanket tossed about their shoulders, wearing a mismatched array of clothing, as that had not been their focus of the last four days, since they stumbled into the house sometime Christmas morning, straight into bed for what had become a marathon of sex. All Christmas day they recovered, wandering form the bed to the kitchen to get food and then back to his room again, mostly because his roommates were the _worst._

Arya and Gendry were the only ones who were remotely _normal_. She had on one of his t-shirts from the military, soft and worn, with 'Snow' stenciled in fading letters on the back. It happened to be stenciled at the hemline, which dusted just under her arsecheeks, so Jon had taken it upon himself to claim that this meant she was _his_ and would just move the shirt aside to grant him access to what lay underneath. She didn't complain.

The firepit kept them warm, along with the eggnog-- spiked with whatever liquor she'd found in one of the cabinets-- the blankets, and her favorite thick knit socks. They'd left only to go to her apartment after Christmas and clean out most of her things, because her landlord was the _worst_ and she needed to get her cat Drogon who was going ot murder her if she lfet him another night. He had taken quite well to living in the House of Black of White as Arya called the terrace house-- because things were either stark white since they had no decorating skills or black because they hadn't been cleaned in months.

She wasn't sure what it meant that most of her things now were in Jon's room. They'd known each other a little over a week. It didn't matter. Maybe it was the weed making her feel floating and soft and thoughtful. "Hmm," she mumbled, pulling his face to hers again, sliding so now her legs were on either side of his hips. He settled his palms on her thighs, murmuring against her mouth. They kissed long, slow, languid...she melted into him, chest pressing against his. For some reason he was still wearing her elf dress like a coat or very short robe. Her fingers curled into the fake fur neck ruff. "Why are you still wearing this?"

"It's comfy. Smells like you."

"You smell like me now," she giggled. She sighed, eyes fluttering open, fixing on his. She wasn't sure what she was feeling. High? Drunk? All of the above? His eyes were so pretty. They were the first thing she noticed about him, once he'd taken off his sunglasses. She tapped her finger to his nose, which was slightly red from the cold. "I like your eyes. They're pretty."

"They're my mom's."

She giggled again. "Your mom's eyes?"

"Yes," he laughed, his turn now to find it hilarious. They rolled to the side, almost straight off the cheap plastic patio couch onto the wet snowy brick terrace. He had on boots that she thought were called Uggs and he claimed they were Robb's, but she wasn't sure. She traced the tattoo on his ribs, savoring his shiver. He pecked a kiss to her nose. "Your nose is red. LIke Rudolph."

This was abnormally hilarious-- probably because of the gummies-- so she laughed, loud and high, even more so when he nipped at the tip of her nose, making it redder. She snorted, his beard scratching her jaw, blowing raspberries on her neck. She squealed. "Jon! Stop!" She pushed at him and giggled again, seeing a flash of white behind him. Her attention turned to Ghost, who came to stand by the firepit, sniffing the smoke coiling off the burning logs. He turned and stuck his tongue out, wagging his fluffy white tail.

There was a dead tree behind him, the branches sticking up near his head that it looked like he had antlers. "Whoa," she whispered, pointing to him. "Do you see that?"

Jon turned his head, awkwardly, from his position atop her. He blinked a few times and whispered. "It's Ghost."

"He's a reindeer."

"He's a wolf."

"He's a reindeer, look, he has a red nose."

"And red eyes."

"He's Rudolph Ghost!" she shouted, finding this the best thing ever. She waved at him. "Ghost! Come here sweet boy!"

"Don't call him that, he's a distinguished gentleman."

The distinguished gentlemen dropped to his side, lifted a leg, and began to lick his balls.

Jon blinked. "Or not."

An idea formed for her and she sat up, sitting on her elbows. She poked Jon's side. "Gimme back my coat."

"I like this coat. This coat makes me feel good. Nice and warm."

She pushed him away, climbing off the couch and hurried inside, through the kitchen and dining area, the trashed living room where she thought Theon might have been passed out-- or a pile of dirty laundry was breathing-- and up the stairs to the reception room. The terrace house was four levels of absolute trash, which she didn't mind, because it had hot water, and that's all she cared about at this point. Drogon was on one of the landings, ripping apart someone's dirty sock. "That's disgusting," she chastised him.

He hissed and when he saw her rummaging in a box on the landing near Jon's room, he escaped wisely, because he knew exactly what it was that she pulled out. It would work, she thought, and ran into Jon's room, grabbing one of her cameras. She scanned through the SD card, chuckling at some of the photos. They were pretty good, the light in Jon's room wasn't bad. Plus he was a marvelous subject for photography.

When she confirmed there was enough space, she ran down the hall, swiped up the Santa coat, and bypassed Arya and Gendry's room, the door open and both of them watching some dumb show on TV. "What are you doing?" Arya called. She paused the show. "This show sucks, they keep marginalizing all the women and making them stupid. There's no payoff for the drama either, it's bullshit."

"It's art!" Gendry protested.

"It's baiting the audience!"

Dany ignored them and returned down to the main receiving room off the front door and hallway, holding up the items she had. "Where's Ghost?" she wondered.

"Dunno, why do you have _that_? I never want to see it again."

"Gimme my dress Santa."

Jon grumbled, shrugging off the elf coat. He had on a pair of red boxers she bought him at the drugstore on Christmas sale, with a big green bow over the front. "It has superglue still on it!" he whined, stomping his foot. "What if it sticks to me and I can never get it off?"

"Are you this whiny and paranoid when you're high?"

"Usually he's just horny," someone yelled from the hall. Might have been Robb. Or someone else.

Dany shrugged, understanding that as it happened to her from time to time. She chalked this up to her stoned mind, because sometimes her best idea came to her when she was not even thinking about them. She set the camera down, pulled on the elf dress over her t-shirt and found Ghost's harness and leash hanging near the door. The dog began turning in circles, panting, whining, and almost peed himself in excitement. She attached it, glad it was red, to match his eyes, and then brought out the piece de resistance.

And Jon could not handle himself, laughing so hard she thought he might pee his pants too.

The photos were some of her best, if she did say so herself, snapping pictures of Jon in the trashed Santa suit, the hat atop his head, as Ghost got into the spirit too, still thinking he was going on a walk, and unlike Drogon, he didn't whip off the fake reindeer antlers the second she set them on his head. It was _brilliant._

She called out orders, Jon happily obliging, which she didn't think he would if he was totally sober. "On Dasher, On Dancer, on Ghost, on...who is the next one?"

"I think Vixen?"

"You're a Vixen."

She pursed her lips and put on a coquettish look. "Yeah, well you're definitely Blitzen."

"Oh I so am." And he pointed ahead, Ghost turning to look at him like he was mental. "Go Ghost! To the North Pole!"

They carried on, even running into the freezing cold and snow long enough for a few. Until Jon grew bored. "Your turn, my little elf," he called out, as Ghost jumped around her, a good reindeer. She laughed, falling into his lap, switching out her camera for her phone, and flipped it to 'selfie.' She _never_ did this and kind of felt like an outsider in someone else's body when she grinned up, stuck her tongue out and flicked the red bauble out, as Jon kissed her cheek, Ghost gazing up with happy dancing red eyes and lolling, drooly tongue, antlers askew.

They took a couple of snaps and she glanced down at the screen, smirking. She'd probably be deleting them soon, whenever this ended, whatever it was. She tossed the phone to the side and fell onto the couch with him, kissing him hard, feeling extra sleepy now. "Hmm," he sighed, hand cupping her bottom, as her leg rose up to hook around his hip. "I love you."

It took her a few minutes, until her eyes sprang open. She lifted her face up to his, mouth falling ajar, about to question him, but Jon's eyes were shut, mouth open, and a raspy snore coming from somewhere in his throat. She licked her very dry lips, looking to Ghost, who had climbed up to sleep next to them, still in his harness. She touched her hand to his face, scratching his jaw, and he gazed adoringly at her.

"Do you think he does?" she murmured.

Ghost licked her palm and nuzzled her hand, settling down for a nap. She smiled, cheek against Jon's chest, and closed her eyes, sighing, drifting away. A week and a half and she was turning into someone she never thought she'd be. _Happy._

Dany traced her finger over Jon's collarbone, listening to his heart under her cheek. "Thanks Santa," she whispered.

The following morning, with a hangover headache, a shitty cup of coffee that someone burned in her hand, and the smell of Jon puffing on the vape pen she'd convinced him to purchase stuck in her nostrils, Dany stumbled from the kitchen and back up the stairs to take a shower. "Remind me to never do that many gummies again," she complained to Drogon, coiling around her ankles.

She stopped hard in front of the bathroom door, blinking. It was _covered_ in pictures. She leaned closer and studied them. They were all of her and Jon, asleep, with reindeer Ghost draped over them. Underneath, someone had written: "The Night AFTER Christmas."

She ripped them down, screaming. "THEON!"

Except she wasn't all that mad. Instead, she was laughing. As much as she wanted to be upset, to feel embarassed about it or find it dumb and juvenile, she couldn't be. Christmas generally sucked. This year...well, she blamed Jon for the thawing of her frozen heart. Stupid as it was, she reminde dherself, because it would end soon. They barely knew each other. It was just fun. _Just fun_ , she lied to herself, as she took one of the photos and folded it up, tucking it gently in the front pocket of her camera bag, with her little dragon figurine.


	3. bad new year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany ring in the new year, in a way only they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post this but thought what the hell, who the fuck cares. Let this shitty year end as soon as possible and start over fresh.
> 
> Thanks to Lights for giving me the idea to pursue this crazy little ditty.

* * *

"What are we doing here again?"

"We're here because we're supporting Dany," Jon explained for the 1000th time to Arya, slipping into the grand foyer at Winterfell, around the snotty nose of his aunt, who no doubt would stroke out if she knew he was present at her annual New Year's Eve celebration. He turned to Arya, who had already snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. He knew he loved her the most for a reason. "Ah, excellent." He moved to grab one, but she snorted, sliding away from him. He scowled. "Hey!"

"Get your own, these are for me. If I have to be here when I only ever try to hide from my mother, subjected to her judgment of my hair, clothes, nails, teeth, skin, career, living arrangements, and my boyfriend," Arya ranted, each word punctuated with a lift of her dark brows and snarky curl of her lips. She jabbed him with one of the champagne flutes. "Then I get two glasses to start."

He rolled his eyes. He needed a whiskey. "Well she doesn't know you're here, courtesy of my skills at sneaking in and out of places." He rubbed his knuckles cheekily on his lapel, smirking. "Thank you Night's Watch."

"Are we including that time you broke your ankle climbing into your room drunk when you were sixteen and fell out of the tree by the window?" Arya wondered, eyebrows arched, questioning. He scowled, not wanting to be reminded of that debacle. She barked her laugh. "Yeah, I didn't think so." She drained one of the flutes, walking with him into the castle's depths, gliding around the rich and famous in their New Year's Eve finery.

It was like a sequins factory exploded over everyone. Northerners were not known for their ability to dress well, preferring drab dark colors and heavy furs, but apparently the dress code called for something more festive and they still couldn't do it properly. Jon had to keep blinking spots out of his eyes, the chandeliers glimmering overhead, along with the old-fashioned fire sconces on the stone walls, every fireplace in the keep lit up, pouring heat and orange glow over everyone. Jewels hung on every available limb and ear, both men and women, and most wore black or silver, matching the majority of the decorations.

Beside him, in a royal blue sequined jumpsuit with bright blue heels, Arya did not get the memo of the drab color scheme-- even when sparkles were added to the mix. "So much for staying hidden," he hissed at her, when someone commented on how bright she looked.

Arya shrugged. "I liked it and fuck you if you thought I was wearing a dress."

"I would never assume such blasphemy," he murmured, scanning the crowd, looking for a silver head amongst the cadre. He couldn't believe he still didn't have a drink in his hand. He reached at his neck, tugging a finger under the buttoned up black silk shirt, which he wore tieless. He hated ties. He also had one suit he wore for funerals when he wasn't allowed his military dress so he stole the one he was wearing from Robb's closet. He had to take it off by midnight or he'd likely turn into a preening tool. He shoved his hands into his pockets, angling away from Arya, who yelped and tottered after him in her platforms, belining for the bar, where Gendry was serving drinks.

Barely at the edge of the chestnut monstrosity that his aunt had probably flown in from somewhere, he was waylaid by his stupid cousin, who was several whiskies in judging from his breath, glassy eyes, and desperation. "Save me," Robb gasped, grabbing hold of his shoulders, spinning around nervously. "My mother is trying to set me up with someone."

"Thought you were fucking Margaery Tyrell?"

Robb made a face. "That's romantic Jon, you kiss Dany with that mouth?"

"Among other things," he answered truthfully. Dany certainly didn't complain. He reached forward, placing his hands on his cousin's shoulders and moving him aside. "Get out of the way, you're blocking the bar."

"Why are you even here?" Robb mumbled, sulking away with him to the corner, where Jon caught Gendry's attention. Gendry didn't even need to ask, sliding a whiskey straight down and right into Jon's hand. _Miracle of miracles_ , he sighed, toasting Gendry with it and turned to survey the room with Robb. Robb sighed hard. "My mother still thinks these things matter. Father's been dead five years, she should just stop. It's so ridiculous."

"Well Sansa's happy I'm sure," he said, referring to his other cousin, who liked to think of herself as the true Lady of Winterfell. It was too bad she was such a bitch, she might otherwise have a Lord to go with it, but no men dared to try with Sansa Stark. She took too much after her vicious mother. He was grateful Catelyn must have been in the other solar holding court with her mini-me. He knew that Bran was probably somewhere with Rickon, the two of them most likely holed up getting high. He had to find Bran before they left, he told Dany that the newest strain of his cousin's weed was incredible, made you think you could see through space and time, but she didn't believe him. He also knew the dogs-- Ghost's littermates-- were likely somewhere with them, since Catelyn would die before one of the dogs got caught in the party.

Robb made another face, taking the whiskey he'd also ordered when set in front of him. He smirked. "So what are you doing here? I'm here because of family obligations. and if I didn't show up, I might not get my yearly allowance from the trust. You got Arya to dress up and show up. So what gives?"

Jon needn't answer, as the object of his affection and slight obsession and devotion came into the room, holding her camera and scanning around, idly flicking the shutter and pausing as couples who instantly grabbed for each other to get their photo taken. He'd seen her before she left the house earlier, but not in her dress, and _gods._ He had to close his eyes, count to ten, and think of Theon's foul belching post-football celebration breath to calm himself down.

Silver braids coiled in a mound at the crown of her head, more tiny braids pulled from her temples into the coil and then falling loose into a single one, a silver clip holding them together, leaving other tendrils of curls loose underneath them. There were a couple other silver clasps scattered in the braids themselves, giving her hair an extra shimmery gleam when she caught the light. Her tight, round curves were poured into a black strapless dress, a slit up the thigh revealing her toned legs and glimpse of a creamy white thigh, her dainty feet caught in six-inch platform heeled sandals. Even with the added height, she was still tiny, giving her a princess-like quality that belied people into thinking she was helpless-- before she kneed them in the groin and punched them in the solar plexus.

When she turned, he could see there happened to be a shimmery red stretch of velvet or some other soft-looking fabric that started at the hem of her skirt, snaked up and across her belly, around the back, across the top of the bodice and around, tapered at each end. Like a flame, he thought immediately, staring at how she just radiated power, control, and beauty. even with the heavy camera around her neck, and a bag of various lenses slung on her shoulder; she was positively breathtaking.

"Close your mouth Jon, you're drooling."

He scowled at Robb, but closed his mouth just in case. He sipped his whiskey, gazing adoringly at his beautiful girlfriend, if that's what she was. They hadn't labeled it just yet. He glanced at Robb. "Do you think she's my girlfriend?"

"Dude, I have no idea what the fuck she sees in you, especially since you were in a Santa suit most of the time you were together, but you've never left each other's sight in a week." Robb downed the rest of his whiskey, lifting the empty glass to signal another. He mimed gagging. "And I've had to hear most of your perverted activities, not to mention that ridiculous photoshoot thing you guys did."

It was hard to believe that he'd known Dany only two weeks. He never had this type of connection with anyone before. If he wasn't mistaken, he might have even told her he loved her several times already, either in the throes of passion or the downfall of a high. He caught her attention and lifted his hand in a silent wave, chuckling at her eye roll. She smiled at him and winked obviously, lifting the camera to take a snap. He did his best 'sexy model pout' and giggled around the rim of his glass when she blew him a kiss, before slipping into the crowd to keep working. He made another sound into his glass, tingling all over from the heated look in her brilliant purple eyes, not realizing that Robb was staring at him.

He shifted his weight against the bar, mumbling. "What?"

"I don't ever want to see that look on your face ever again."

"What look?"

"That emo constipated teenager pursing eyes look, what the fuck I'm terrified." Robb was disgusted. "I've lost my best wingman at these things."

"You're with Margaery!"

He shrugged, scanning the crowd. "We're not exclusive." He sighed, sadness filling his bright blue eyes. "Margaery's call. I don't think she wants to be smothered."

"So it's just what? A friends with benefits thing?" Jon could never do those. He was too monogamous for his own good sometimes. At least, that's what his ex-girlfriend said when he broke up with her for cheating on him with half of her unit. Val and he had different interpretations of what a relationship happened to be. Then of course there was Ygritte, who was too possessive for her own good. Even he'd been scared of the level of monogamy she wanted.

He gazed at Dany, wondering what she thought this happened to be. They hadn't talked about it. They picked up their final checks from Jorah, only avoiding him lecturing them nonstop and refusing to give them decent reviews because Dany threatened to sue him for sexual harassment and reminded him casually of all the unwanted text messages, he'd sent her. After that, they'd locked themselves in his room, coming out to walk Ghost and clean out her apartment, which she gave up because she didn't want to pay rent if she wasn't going to be there. Her cat Drogon was now living in the house too, most of her things piled in his room or in his car.

He glanced at Robb. "I think we're living together."

"I think you are too and you're so fucking stupid you only just figured it out."

Jon shrugged; if it didn't bother Dany, it didn't bother him. He looked around the room again. He didn't recognize a single person there. He elbowed Robb. "Where's Theon?"

"He's banned from Winterfell after last year's party, don't you remember?"

"I was in the hospital for that one." He was still recovering from his wounds. Robb flinched, mouthing 'sorry.' Jon shrugged; it was just a sore topic, but he would rather not dwell on it. He finished his drink, collecting another and slapped his hand on the bar, startling Robb from his vacant staring. "Alright, you're done, go find Arya, she's the bright blue thing walking around here hiding from her mom."

"That doesn't sound very covert."

"It is not."

"And where are you going?"

"To find my girlfriend." Jon angled down the bar, informing the bartender that Robb should only be getting water from then on out. He avoided several arse pinches from some drunk ladies, unfortunately caught Catelyn's eye once and almost turned to stone from the look she shot him, and had to answer a couple of rude questions from people saying they thought he was dead, when did he come back to life?

He found Dany in an alcove near the library, removing a chip from her camera and inserting another. He moved behind her, hovering over her shoulder and whispering into her ear, silver hoops she wore swaying from her movements, and whispered, "You look so good tonight."

An arm flew up to try to knock him in the nose, while a high heel jammed onto his foot. He squeaked, too stunned to make a louder noise, and almost spilled his drink right down her front, avoiding it only because Dany spun so fast, he had to move out of the way to avoid getting whiplash from her braids. She gasped, reaching for him. "Shit, Jon! You scared me!"

"You attack everyone who scares you?" he grumbled, sipping his drink to calm his nerves. Dany took it from him and had a couple long swallows for herself, passing it back almost empty. He frowned into the glass, seeing straight through the crystal bottom to the floor. "Hmm, guess that answers my question of how the night is going."

She reached her hand up to scratch fingers across his jaw, dropping a gentle kiss to his lips. "I'm sorry babe, it's been a long one tonight. I came over here partly to take a break." She arched her brows, smirking. "Your aunt is paying me pretty well to work the room, depending on how these turn out, I may be invited back for the Winter Tea Party at the end of January."

"Oh fuck no, you don't want to do that."

"And why is that?"

He grinned, nudging her against the wall, his hands coming down to lightly touch her hips, his burgeoning erection pressing against her cunt, grinding slightly so she could feel it through the layers of his pants and her dress. He wiggled his brows. She groaned softly, tilting her head back to allow his lips to track feather-light kisses from her mouth down her jaw, and throat, settling on her bare shoulder. "Because I'm not invited. Women only, you see."

"Hmm, well we may have to change that." She set the camera down, turning in his arms, a wicked smile flirting on her scarlet red lips. The gleam in her eyes had become a familiar sight to him the last week, one he knew would prelude wonderful things to come. He growled, nipping her bottom lip, eliciting a loud groan. He covered her mouth with his, stifling her mumbling, and pressed her deeper into the alcove.

There were plenty of areas of Winterfell where they could enjoy themselves, less public, but something about this woman stoked a fire inside of him that burned out any concept of propriety, public indecency laws, or what any of his family members would think if they caught them. He pulled her in close, pinning her against the cold stone wall, ravishing her mouth and down the slim column of her neck, pink blooming across her pale skin. "Oh gods Jon," she mumbled, hands tangling in his hair. She hiked her leg up around his hip and he grabbed for her thigh, encouraging it higher, slinging her knee over his forearm so he could dip his fingers through the skirt's slit and reach under to find...her very bare, very warm, and very lovely arsecheek.

He tore away from her, eyes black, burning. "You tease," he groaned.

She nipped his bottom lip, a little harder than he would have liked, almost drawing blood. She growled. "Why encumber you further? I knew we'd end up here.”

“Here?”

“Somewhere like it,” she said, sweeping in to grab his mouth again, groaning when his tongue speared through to swipe along the top of her palate, before he touched the cool bauble she wore on her tongue, swallowing back his groans.

They grappled together, her fingers fumbling with his belt buckle, one hand pushing at the hem of his shirt and the other scratching nails deep into his arse, holding on tight. He had many marks already across his skin courtesy of her talons, what was a few more? He hardly felt them any longer. He could hardly contain himself; he’d been half-hard since they left the house. This woman made him mindlessly mad. He kept his hand around her arse, holding her steady, as his other dove through the silky dress, slipping along the wetness he discovered dripping out of her cunt.

He chuckled. “This for me?”

“Gods yes, fuck me,” she mumbled, panting, high-pitched. Her violet eyes stared through to his, practically black, her pupils drowning out her irises. “Now.”

Didn’t have to tell him twice. He pressed kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and pulled at the dress bodice just enough to capture a perfectly pink, rosy nipple into his mouth, worrying it a moment before he let go, his knees collapsing under him to knock onto the stone floor, his head disappearing beneath the skirt. He kept her upright with a hand holding back her leg, her heel digging into his shoulder, and the other he followed with his tongue, tasting her, savoring the tangy warmth as she gushed into his mouth, moaning delightfully.

He nosed her little clit, his tongue sweeping back and forth, flicking at it and then into her tight warmth. One finger entered, followed by another, fucking her roughly, her cunt squeezing almost painfully around them. He wanted to be inside her so bad, but first he wanted to bring her over the edge. Her whines were muffled; he stole a glance up to see she had shoved her forearm over her mouth, using it to stifle her as she watched him pleasure her. He grinned wide, he didn’t know what kind of kink it was, but he got off on her watching him go down on her.

It took a few more moments, fucking her wetly with his fingers, and suckling at her clit, tongue alternating between slow and rapid moments, and she was coming, a hand digging into his hair, tearing at it and her hips bucking wildly.

Licking up her release, he pressed a final kiss to her cunt, now puffy and swollen pink from coming so hard. He wiped his mouth over his damp beard and swallowed, smiling cockily at her. “You okay?”

“Come here,” she mumbled, grabbing the front of his shirt and dragging him against her, slamming her mouth against his. He eagerly returned her kiss, holding her closer, her fingers working to drag up her skirts again so he could fuck her. They were so enamored with each other, floundering in the heat and intensity that always came with their couplings, he almost didn't hear the heels clacking on the stone behind them.

But he did hear the screech— he was quite sure dogs miles away began to howl. And his balls shriveled up instantly, any hard-on _gone_ in seconds.

"Bastard!"

Tearing from Dany, he turned, laughing at the sight of Catelyn standing before them, fuming. He waved. "Hey Cat!"

_"GET OUT!"_

Thankfully he'd shielded Dany away from Cat, who had run off after screaming, and hadn't seen exactly who he was fucking. Or rather, hoping to fuck and supposed he’d have to wait until after the party. He cocked his head, sighing sadly. "Later?"

"I think I'm almost done here," Dany grinned, kissing him fast. She dropped her heels to the floor and patted his cheek. "Poor darling. I'll take care of you later."

"I will hold you to it."

"Do you think she'll fire me?"

"Nah, she has no idea it's you. She doesn't care anyway, it's about me." He wiped off Dany's lipstick from his lips and teeth, adjusting himself-- rather painfully-- while she fixed her hair and dress. He pecked her cheek. "See you soon, aye?"

"Soon," she promised, lifting the camera and snapping a picture of him. She grinned. "My muse."

He stepped away, grabbing a champagne flute, wiggling it at her. "Come with bells on."

"Oh I intend to Jon Snow." She stuck her tongue out, a purple jewel at the end of the ring through it and wiggled it, where it made a little chime. He almost passed out. She cackled, taking another picture of his whipped expression. "See you soon."

_Not soon enough_ , he thought, downing the glass and finding another, just in time for Arya to come running at him, motioning for him to leave. He frowned. "What?"

"My mom's on the warpath, she's got a guy she wants to introduce me to and she's screaming about how her bastard nephew is defiling the house of her husband's forebears, what were you _doing_?"

"Dany."

"Pervert," Arya chastised, grabbing his hand. "Come on, let's get out of here." On her way out the door, she swiped a bottle of champagne from the bar, waving it. "And get shitfaced."

When Gendry wasn't looking, Jon leaned over and lifted a whiskey bottle, cracking the cap. He knew he shouldn't mix, but it was New Year's Eve.

_What could possibly go wrong?_

* * *

_Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow._

Jon gingerly lifted his eyelids, which felt like ten-ton weights were added to them, tiny icepicks stabbing his head. He slammed his eyes shut again and winced, mumbling in pain. It wasn't a hangover that was causing him the throbbing ache throughout his body. He rolled onto his side and yelped, after putting his weight on his arm. He sat up, knocking against Dany, who had moved beside him, also groaning. Clearly they were entering the new year with joint hangovers. It was worse than his one on Christmas and that was _bad_.

“What happened?” he croaked, blinking around his room.

It looked like a confetti bomb went off. There was glitter, streamers, a ‘Happy New Year’ sign askew over his window, and Ghost curled up in a chair chewing on a pair of oversized plastic ‘2021’ glasses. His suit was in a crumpled mess on the floor with a couple of party hats and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw a cheap tiara sticking out of Dany’s knotted hair.

He rubbed his face again, his arm aching like he’d slammed it in a door. Or done a million push-ups. “Ow,” he mumbled, reaching up to his bicep, and encountered plastic and tape. _Huh?_ “What the fuck?” He glanced down at it and stared, eyes widening, in understanding at why his arm hurt so badly, why there was plastic taped to his skin, and a brief snippet of last night coming back to him.

_”You sure about this Crow? It hurts like a motherfucker, all them nerves or stuff, I got grown men crying and sniveling when I do it there.”_

_“Do it Tormund! Anything for my wife!”_

_“Your wife! I’m your wife! Do it Tormund, give him a dragon, he’s my wolf, you do me next!”_

_“Sure thing Dragon Queen, let’s get this started.” Tormund laughed, darkly, and punched his finger on the ink gun, which whirred ominously, and he leaned in towards Jon’s exposed bicep, pressing on the stencil and began to work._

_The moment the needle hit his skin, Jon let out a piercing shriek, kicking his feet up while Dany laughed hysterically next to him, silencing him with a hard kiss._

He groaned, lightly touching the inked in dragon, which rippled across his bicep each time the muscle twitched. “Like it’s flying,” he whispered, remembering that that was why it appealed to him. He blinked hard again, trying to remember why he’d gone to his friend Tormund’s tattoo parlor in the first place. And why Dany had been so into it too.

At his side, Dany hissed, sucking breath through her clenched teeth. She touched at the plastic taped over her new tattoo, just underneath her bra strap. “Fuck.” He craned his head around to peer at her tattoo. A wolf, of course, snarling up under her breast. He laughed a little. She rolled her eyes around the messy room. “What happened?”

“I left the party,” he began.

Dany nodded, scrubbing her hand over her head. She threw the tiara aside and turned, climbing out of bed and froze, staring at something on the floor. “Um, Jon?”

“What?”

She knelt and picked up a white satin sash, threading it through her fingers, turning it over. She let it hang from her wrist, lifting it up and pointed. “Where did this come from?”

In the cold light of the new year, whatever had seemed fun and hysterical last night no longer held the same amusement. His head throbbed, his arm was killing him, and he had a permanent dragon on him. That wasn’t so much a problem. It was the sash she was holding, and now a frilly garter, which she’d removed from what might have been his shirt. He had another flash, recovered memory from the previous evening.

_“I know how we can celebrate the new year.” Dany spun in circles, holding the champagne bottle, her feet bare, braids flying, and a New Year hat in her other hand. She laughed loudly and took a swig from the bottle, pointing it at him. “I love you.”_

_“I love you too.” He didn’t remember when he first said it to her, but he did. Two weeks of knowing someone and he was in love. Why not share it with them? No need to keep it secret. He put on the oversized plastic glasses they’d got from one of the all-night stores, to have their own New Year celebration after she gave up taking photos of rich people at Winterfell and passed her camera off to Bran to finish. Catelyn was beside herself because someone—Rickon or Robb probably—spilled wine all over one of the priceless settees and the entire conservatory smelled like weed, so she didn’t even notice Dany’s absence._

_She hiked up her skirts, spinning around and around, laughing maniacally. “Let’s get married! New year, new everything!”_

_“Yes!” This was a brilliant idea. He grabbed hold of her around her waist, whooping. “Let’s get married!”_

_“Right now!”_

_“Yes!”_

_“I can marry you!” From across the yard, popping up from where she and Gendry were playing drunk Twister, Arya jumped up and down, giving him a headache from all the blue sparkles on her jumpsuit. “I got it on the internet! Lemme marry you!”_

_“But I need a ring!” Dany fretted. She grabbed hold of his forearms, beaming up beatifically. “Jon, I have a really great idea. Even better than rings!”_

_When she told him what it was, he ripped his phone out of his pocket, calling Tormund. It was a brilliant idea. What better way to show how much they loved each other?_

He blinked over at the sash. _Bride to Be_ “Where did we get this so fast?” he wondered out loud.

“Robb made a phone call…I think.”

_Of course he did._ No doubt Robb thought this was a hilarious bit of fun and wanted to be part of it. He scrubbed his face, groaning. The headache was fading, but his arm was hurting even more. He blinked at Dany, who was studying her new tattoo under her breast. “Does it hurt? Why doesn’t it hurt you as much as mine?”

“Dunno, guess I have higher tolerance.” She dropped her arms to her sides and picked up his shirt, pulling it on. She climbed back into the bed, straddling his hips, her bottom settling nicely against his cock. Their fingers found each other, squeezing hands, and she eyed him nervously. “Sooo…” she drawled. “What now?”

_What now indeed._ They were married, maybe? How legal was Arya’s internet marriage thing? It couldn’t have been legal. He thought of his mother’s jewelry. He might not have access to his trust fund courtesy of his uncle’s machinations and the various loopholes and tasks they all had to accomplish—and never could—to get it, but he did have access to her jewelry. Including her favorite ring, which if he ever proposed to anyone, he planned to give.

He looked up at Dany, smiling lovingly, his hands dropping to her thighs, slowly moving them up and down. She picked up one of the New Year’s Hats, setting it on her head, smiling lazily at him too. “You want to stay married to me?” he whispered, unsure if he wanted to hear something other than ‘yes.’

Amusement twinkled in her eyes. “I’m already living with you, aren’t I?”

“I think you are.”

“And I love you,” she whispered, chewing her bottom lip nervously. Her forehead wrinkled. “Is that alright?”

He laughed. “Fucking more than alright.”

Leaning down over him, she framed her hands around his face, kissing him gently. They tangled around each other, her hips lifting and her hand breaking away to slip down behind her, pumping his cock a few times to ready him. He groaned, panting against her mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head, her fingers sliding up and down lazily, nails scraping lightly over his balls. “Fuck,” he gasped, arching his hips up. “Dany, now.”

She lifted up to her knees and positioned him, so she could slide the tip of his cock along her cunt, the lips already wet and glistening. “You want to fuck me?” she whispered, eyebrow arching.

“Yes, _fuck_.”

“I don’t remember our midnight kiss,” she pouted, still teasing herself over him, sliding back and forth, her heat covering him momentarily before she wiggled away, just to return again. She stuck her lower lip out, brow furrowed. “We didn’t even ring in the new year like all the other couples.”

_Because we were getting tattoos and getting married_ , he thought, gasping out when she pressed the head of his cock inside of her, just to move to the side and dislodge it. “Dany, I swear if you don’t…” he began, but he couldn’t even finish his threat, before she suddenly sank onto him. He grunted, mindless again, thrusting up into her, deep and snug, her thighs gripping his hips and her hands flat on her lower abdomen, beginning to rock slowly. He held her hips tight, encouraging her, and soon both of them weren’t speaking, moving from slow rolls and shallow thrusts of her against him to furious fucking.

All he needed was her, he thought, thinking briefly how silly it all was. It started off with a lost bet and a shitty job and here they were. He met her gaze, his mouth ajar, gulping breaths, and watching her come, her tits bouncing with each movement and her eyes fixed on him. A lovely flush spread over her cheeks and she dropped forwards over him, their hands finding each other, squeezing hard. He used the moment to flip so she was under him and he gathered her up tighter, as she came hard against him, unable to keep her cries quiet, her back bowing.

It hit him a moment later, after his release slammed into him, and he emptied into her, her cunt squeezing tight, draining him of everything he had. Sweat chilled on his skin, which shivered, his arm was still aching, but it didn’t hurt near as much as it had before. Everything went warm, kind of dark, after he came inside of her, and he kissed idly along her shoulder, nuzzling her racing pulse. Her fingertips lightly skimmed down his shoulders and up into his hair, where she liked to play with the curls.

He lifted his chin, resting it in the valley of her breasts, having slid down a little after his cock softened, pulling free of her. He kissed the edge of where her new tattoo was, smiling loopily up at her. She returned the smile, gaze soft, loving. “You really want tomarry me?” he whispered, in awe at that. Even sober, she still wanted him? Like that? He chuckled, nervous. “Tattoos are one thing, living together, but…”

“I don’t know what this is,” she admitted, cutting him off. She sighed, shifting in the bed. He moved up and rolled to his side, draping his arm over her, cuddling her against him. She held his upper arm, lightly touching the new tattoo and he flinched, skin still pained. She smiled again. “You…you’ve done something to me Jon Snow. I don’t know what it is, but I want to be with you.”

_Me too._ He kissed her softly, whispering. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she breathed. She smiled again, laughing. “I think I remember something from last night…” She grabbed the New Year’s hat and set it on his head, wiggling her brows teasingly. “You fucking me while wearing this. It never fell off. Such balance and precision you have.”

He laughed, remembering that too. He smirked. “We can always try it with you this time.”

“Soon enough.” She turned and grabbed her phone, holding it up. “I think we need to see evidence of our wedding. Since we cant remember it quite yet.”

Ghost leaped up onto the bed, rooting around between them. He rolled his eyes at his dog, ruffling his fur. “I hope you looked away you pervert,” he chastised, as Ghost decided now to start ripping up the Bride-to-Be sash. He glanced at Dany, who looked horrified, flicking through pictures. “What’s wrong?”

“Gods, we’re so wasted.”

“We’re a mess,” he agreed. He looked over at the photos, wincing. “Oh my.”

“That fucking Santa suit.”

They flicked through a few more, before Dany gave up, throwing the phone onto the nightstand and reached for him again. “Give me my midnight kiss I don’t remember Mr. Snow” she laughed, bringing him back to her.

“Anything for you, Mrs. Snow.”


	4. bad Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany gifts Jon with a Valentine's Day surprise, and he scrambles for a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey the dirty beans are back! This is just a drabble that goes where I think we all suspected they'd be after only two months of knowing each other, lol. 
> 
> Also I wrote it in an hour, so mistakes are evident I'm sure.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Hmm….what am I looking at exactly?” Jon narrowed his eyes on the black and white image his wife had presented him, trying to ascertain exactly what she’d been pointing to—they all looked like squiggles to him.

She swatted his shoulder affectionately, leaning in to point at another squiggle. “There, that’s the baby’s head and I think that’s a spine…”

“Could be a tail.”

“Jon! Be serious!”

He wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, between the two of them the baby could be a wolf or a dragon or maybe a little bit of both. He turned his face back up to her, grinning stupidly. The news had been shocking to say the least—they’d only known each other a grand total of approximately seven weeks. Since their little fetus was approximately six weeks along, he was rather proud of himself. He lightly pressed his lips to hers, kissing gently. “I love this…dragonwolf. Those look like wings.”

“Or maybe horns.”

“I don’t know much about babies, but…” He shrugged, looking at the sonogram again, brow furrowed. “Isn’t this a little early?”

“Yes, but well…” She sighed, nervously tugging her bottom lip under her top teeth, worrying it a moment. He hugged her tighter, kissing her temple. They were still learning things about each other. It was expected, being married two weeks after meeting. She threaded her fingers into his, their cheap wedding bands clinking together. “I have had problems in the past, with…down there. The doctor wanted to verify, to be sure.” She smiled sheepishly, murmuring. “Plus well, we haven’t really been…careful I guess.”

That might have been an allusion to the brownies they’d stuffed themselves with the week before. He thought they were just brownies and he’d been hungry after his workout but leave it to Arya to just leave a tray of pot brownies lying around. He smiled, kissing her temple. “But everything is healthy?” He consulted the ghost image again. It looked healthy.

She nodded, her eyes shining, sparkling amethyst. “Yeah, everything is healthy.” She pressed tighter to his chest. They were curled up on the couch in the downstairs living room, her Valentine’s Day surprise derailing any other plans he might have had for them both. Not that he had any, he’d been shocked when he walked in after work—he decided to finally start writing some of his insane stories and experiences down and so ‘work’ was sitting at the pub typing them up—to discover Dany dressed in a red nightie with a pink boa and headband with wiggling hearts that lit up on the top.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” she shouted, jumping up into his arms, and then blurted out. “I’m pregnant!”

Now, a few hours later, they were curled under a blanket on the couch, going over the sonogram, talking about it all, and what it meant. He was oddly happy about it all. He was in love with this woman, had been the moment he’d walked into that locker room and saw her in her elf costume. Wearing a red and pink candy-like outfit now, he was more in love with her than ever.

Everyone made fun of them for moving so fast. He’d had a lecture of epic proportions from his uncle regarding his whirlwind marriage, Ned going so far as to try to get him to annul it and schedule a surprise meeting with the family lawyer. No one understood true love, he guessed, or the intensity of his feelings for Dany and hers for him. He didn’t care what they’d say about the baby now. It was quite the surprise, but also…made sense for them, he thought, smiling wide.

Plus, he hadn’t remembered it was Valentine’s Day, so, this was nice.

Dany brushed her finger down his jaw, scratching lightly in his beard. “So? I’ve given you my gift. What’d you get me?”

“Um….” _Shit!_ He flashed a smile. “It’s a surprise.”

Her eyebrow quirked, curious. “Oh?”

“Umm….aye. Lemme’….lemme’ go get it.” He slipped out from under her, taking in the cat-like grin on her lips, the way her silver curls fell over her shoulder, growing out from the messy bob she’d had around Christmas. He really enjoyed the red lacy outfit she was wearing, excited to see what she had on underneath of it, if anything.

First though…. _shit!_ He kept his sheepish, teasing little smile on his face until he got around the corner, cursing under his breath and pounding feet up the stairs into the kitchen, panicking and rustling through the detritus around him for _something_. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

How could he have _forgotten_ Valentine’s Day? Not like it was a real holiday, but _still_. He pushed aside half-empty bags of crisps, biscuits, and take away containers, opening and closing the fridge but he couldn’t even surprise her with a bottle of the cheap champagne that someone had in the fridge. He contemplated the Yitish food someone had left, but the smell of it had him sick, let alone what it might do to his expecting queen.

“Fuck,” he cursed again, Drogon following after him. He glared at the cat. He swore the beast was laughing at him. “I know, I know! But come on, she’s gotten seven hells a lot more for Christmas and New Year’s!”

Drogon yowled, jumping onto the bench by the front door, knocking aside someone’s backpack. A bag of something fell out of it, bright pink and red and with ribbon. He lunged for it, fumbling around and eyes widening at what they happened to be. He consulted the tag. _Happy Valentine’s Day, you stupid cunt!_ was written on the tag, in what he recognized as Theon’s messy handwriting. He had no idea who Theon planned to give these candies to, but he didn’t care.

At least he had them. The tag and ingredients had nothing related to drugs or alcohol, so he figured they’d be safe for his pregnant wife. He ran up the stairs to the bedrooms, buzzing by Arya, who was at her desk, working on something. He froze, backtracking. “Hey!” he yelled. “Do you know where I can find a card or something? For Valentine’s Day?”

She frowned at the bag in his hands. “Are those Theon’s dirty candies?”

“What?”

“Theon was talking about getting those Sweetheart candies, you know the little hearts that say ‘I Wuv U’ or whatever, but they’re mean candies, say things like ‘Fuck You’ and stuff.” She cackled, spinning in her desk chair, pen near his lips. “He was going to give them to Robb for some reason.” She sighed. “I think he’s in love with him.”

“He does care an awful lot.” It would explain a lot, that’s for sure. He couldn’t think about that now, gesturing to his cousin with the bag. He saw a stack of cards near her. “Do you have a card or something? I need to give Dany a gift. I forgot.”

“What’d she get you?”

It was too soon to share, that’s what Dany told him, and he agreed. They hadn’t even been able to enjoy their news for one full night, no way was he telling their shitty roommates. He made a face and waggled his brows. “She got me a lingerie set.”

Arya wrinkled her nose, gagging. “Gross! I don’t need to know what your kinks are!”

 _Wait what? No…_ “No it’s not for me!”

“I don’t care, gross. Here, take this, I got it for Gendry.” She handed him a card, which he took, stared at for a moment and glared at her. She shrugged again, her turn to smile cheekily. “What?”

“Nothing. I don’t ask about your kinks either.”

Jon scribbled a note into the card, shoved it into the envelope, and ran out of Arya’s room, listening to her shouting after him about leaving her door shut and don’t ask questions if he heard things later from Gendry that might sound bad. He shivered; they needed to soundproof this damn place. He bounded back down the stairs, ignoring Drogon’s hissing when he disturbed the nap place the cat discovered on the landing, and emerged back in the downstairs living room.

His heart dropped straight down to his cock, which jumped in his jeans, at the sight before him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

The nightie was gone, replaced by a flame red lacy bra and pantie set, black garters holding up sheer black stockings, her feet now encased in a pair of black heels that if he was not mistaken, had flames coming up the sides. Her silver tresses were left free, the silly Valentine’s Day headband twirling in her fingers, before she lifted it up to her lips—crimson and positively delectable—smiling coyly.

He gulped. “Um….wow.”

“You forgot my gift, didn’t you?”

“Um….no?”

Dany chuckled, low and throaty, rising up onto her knees on the couch. She crooked a finger to him. He rocketed from his place at the base of the stairs, tumbling over the back of the couch so he could get to her. She yanked at his button-down, pulling hard. “I don’t care,” she gasped, her breasts straining against the sheer lace barely holding them in. He flicked the clasp between her shoulder blades, groaning against her mouth when the fabric gave way, falling between them. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the slim line of her neck, over her creamy breasts, needing to taste her.

She fell backwards and he forwards, caging her in and settling between her splayed thighs. He sighed against her when she ground her hips up against his, slickly rubbing herself along him. “What about your gift?” he mumbled.

“Dirty candies from Theon’s backpack?”

“How’d you know?”

She laughed, which choked when he closed his mouth around one of her dusky rose nipples, savoring the way she reacted, far more sensitive now that she was pregnant. “Oh fuck! Jon!” She gasped, writhing against him, fingers digging into his curls. “Hmmm…candies…I was there. When he got them.”

He didn’t even care about that, letting go of her nipple with a pop, moving to the other, while his fingers began to trail over her belly, excited to inspect it daily to see how their baby was growing, wondering when it would start to swell. He pulled back suddenly; eyes wide. “Wait.”

“What?” She leaned back on her elbows, lips swollen and eyes dark indigo. Her hair mussed, he made a mental picture of it, as it was probably one of the hottest things he’d seen. “Jon?”

He frowned. “The baby? Is this…safe?”

She snorted, reaching up for him. “Oh Jon, you’re so sweet. Yes, it’s perfectly safe.”

“Yor’e sure? I don’t want like…to hit the baby’s head or something.”

Her eyes narrowed, cocking her head slightly. “I am a little concerned you don’t know where the baby is actually located now.”

“I may have fallen asleep during human development course.”

“Hmm.” She climbed into his lap, reaching over and taking the card that had fallen from his fingers. She wagged it at him, eyes twinkling. “So where’d you get this so quickly?”

“I always had it,” he lied, knowing full well she could see through him. He draped his fingers over her hip, twisting in the garters, snapping at them. She jumped, shivering. He wrinkled his nose, butting it to hers. “Go ahead, open it.”

The paper tore, envelope falling onto the floor, and she removed the card, staring at the image. He wondered what he reaction would be. It wasn’t exactly… _romantic._ He frowned, now a little concerned as she didn’t make a sound, or really any reaction. She flicked it open, stared at the message inside, and closed it. Her eyes rotated towards his and when he thought he was going to be in the doghouse, she burst into her beautiful, melodious laugh.

“You’re mine too,” she laughed.

He wrapped her up tight, kissing her hard, fast. “Glad you find it amusing.”

“The sweet message inside is really something.” She closed the card again, sighing and reading off the front. “You’re my favorite thing to do.” The crude little stick figures fucking on the front with a heart over them seemed to mean more to her than if he’d actually gotten her something sappy. She opened it up, reading aloud. “ _I may have forgotten this holiday, but I can tell you there’s one I will never forget. You mean everything to me, and I love you, my elf, my wife, my Dany.”_

Well when she said it like that….it sounded _so_ sappy. He cringed; teeth clenched. “Sorry…it’s…mpfh…”

They fell back again, together, on the couch, his body draped across hers. He smiled over her mouth, accepting the long, slow kiss, both of them disappearing into the other. After a long moment, he broke away, forehead pressing to hers, breaths mingling. He nuzzled his nose into her cheek, whispering. “You liked it?”

“I love you,” she whispered. She raked her fingers through his hair, linking them behind at his neck. “I love you so much, I’m so happy you were that stupid Santa.”

 _Gods we may need to pay Theon back for the dirty candies and more_ , he idly thought, smiling in agreement. They wrapped their arms tight around each other, holding close. At one point he realized he heard her heart, beating in time with his. He rubbed his thumb on her engagement ring, his mother’s beautiful diamond and sapphire set, which he bestowed upon her a week after their impromptu wedding. They’d held another one, a serious one, in the godswood to make sure it was legal, and then run off back to the house to celebrate.

 _Now we’re having a baby_ , he thought wondrously. He brushed her hair from her face, whispering. “Do you think it was the sleigh or…”

She snorted. “Jon!”

“What? I’m just curious, when exactly did our baby show up in the world? When we were in the sleigh or maybe on the floor….or…”

“No later than New Year’s Eve,” she answered. She wrapped their hands together, folding over her belly. She smiled up at him. “Hey Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“That card works both ways.”

“Aye?”

“Aye, you’re my favorite thing to do too.”

He grinned. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

She kissed him lightly, whispering. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

**fin.**


End file.
